


JUSTICE AT MIDNIGHT

by heatherpeters



Category: The Blacklist
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff and Smut, Mystery, Romance, ghost - Freeform, happy ever after, redemption story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24561520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpeters/pseuds/heatherpeters
Summary: This Lizzington Tale is total fantasy; you might say its an out of this world love story, set against the backdrop of a brutally cold winter in Bethesda, Maryland.
Relationships: Elizabeth Keen/Raymond Reddington
Comments: 122
Kudos: 177





	1. Chapter 1

“….Sing with me, sing for the years  
Sing for the laughter, sing for the tears  
Sing with me, just for today  
Maybe tomorrow, the good Lord will take you away…” 

FEBRUARY 7

It was a celebration.

In a private banquet room, located in a remote area somewhere in D.C., away from prying eyes, authorities and his enemies, Raymond Reddington and a dozen of his closest associates, peers, and friends, toasted Red on this most auspicious day.

His birthday.

Among the laughter and camaraderie of the evening, the finest champagne and liquor were served, not to mention the presentation of superb elegant dining. That was followed by a multitude of sweets and pastries, joined by the sublime voices of Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra crooning in the background.

This day celebrated more than Red’s birthday: earlier, he and his associates lauded the completion of a multi-million-dollar enterprise, a complex operation that came off without a hitch. More good news followed: the latest results of blood tests that confirmed his return to perfect health. 

Two hours into the festivities, Dembe took the initiative and brought everyone to attention. He gently tapped a spoon to his champagne flute, causing a tinkling sound that brought the room to a dull din. 

“Raise your glasses, everyone. This is, indeed, a happy occasion. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Raymond so happy.” He began as people nodded and murmured in silent agreement.

“Before you open your gifts, let’s all toast our friend and wish him the most joyous of birthdays.”

“Salute.” Came the response from the well-wishers, while others called out: ‘speech, speech’.

Red stepped to the head of the obscenely long banquet table and spied the seemingly endless array of gifts in all shapes and sizes. Taking a long sip of champagne until he emptied the glass, he was summarily given another, and gave a hearty laugh as he addressed the small gathering.

“Thank you all for coming tonight.” He began, his eyes touching on each of his guests, his smile sincere, his heart overflowing with joy for the first time in many years. “It isn’t every day a man lives to be my age, so, to each one of you, my gratitude for a job well done. And with the excellent execution of our most lucrative enterprise to date, please know that as of this moment, you are all very wealthy. Now, please, enjoy yourselves, while I open my gifts.” He raised his glass.

As the crowd cheered him on, the champagne, superb liquor, and fine wine continued to flow, guests danced and enjoyed each other’s company, while many gathered to join Red and watch with inebriated glee as he unwrapped Dembe’s offering. 

“Ah, Dembe.” He announced, eyes bright with affection for his dearest friend. Two gifts: the first, a wrapped square box that contained exquisite Cuban cigars, joined by a rare bottle of 100-year-old single malt scotch. “My dear, dear friend.” He nodded, as tears filled his eyes.

Next came Glen’s gift, a metallic red bowling ball that brought a boyish giggle from Red. "Just say the word and I’ll reserve us a lane next Saturday.” The diminutive character wearing the neon green track suit, winked.

From Teddy came a rather unique 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle depicting a scene of all things: a blizzard. Eyebrows raised, Red looked at his interrogator with a feigned scowl. “Is this your way of torturing me, Teddy? If it is, I think you’ve succeeded.”

Laughter filled the room as the next present came from Kate Kaplan, his most reliable cleaner, and trusted friend. “Oh my.” Red exclaimed as he pulled the exquisite steel gray vicuna coat from the box. “Don’t act so surprised, Dearie. You’ve been hinting at this for months. Enjoy it.” 

Nearly dumb struck at the thoughtfulness of the gift, Red held it up for all to see. “How lovely. Thank you, Kate.” She nodded as Red leaned over, and embraced her with a loving bear hug. 

On and on, the hours passed, filled with merriment. Espresso and pastries were served, not to mention Chui’s signature pecan pie. Eventually, as the nights festivities waned, people began to say their goodbyes. 

Bidding his associates goodnight, again congratulating them on a job well done, Dembe loaded the Mercedes while Red shrugged into his winter coat, leather lined gloves, woolen scarf and hat. It was a bitterly cold night, the snow storm gathering strength with every passing moment. 

As the shiny black Mercedes made its way down Massachusetts avenue toward the safe house in Bethesda, Dembe’s burner buzzed. It was his daughter, Isabella.

After a few moments, Dembe disconnected the call. “Ellie has the flu, it seems.”

Red didn’t hesitate. “Go spend the night with them. Call Nik and tell him to meet you at Bella’s. Just drop me at the house and go. Please, Dembe. I’m fine.”

Dembe hesitated. He never liked to leave Red, especially overnight. “Just for a few hours then, Raymond.”

Red nodded in agreement. “It’s been a busy, exhausting week, with perfect results. Acquiring that shipment was quite a boon to our coffers.” He pursed his lips, satisfied with his well-executed plan. “I do believe that if I died tonight, I’d have not a single regret.” Satisfied with his latest accomplishment, he lifted his eyes to the February sky, and spied a shooting star as it broke through the clouds, brightening the surreal horizon. Two more of those celestial rockets followed, intriguing Red with blazing tails that followed in their wake. It was as if the heavens were celebrating his birthday as well. He shook his head and chuckled lightly at the folly of his thoughts. His slight inebriation must have rendered him so fanciful.

Shaking off his dreamy musing, he conversed with Dembe. “The agreement we struck up today was particularly lucrative and more than even I expected.”

Dembe met Red’s gaze through the rear-view mirror and nodded. “The money was immediately transferred to your Swiss account, Raymond. Hans and Kristoff have the papers, along with the new villa on Lake Geneva. All is safe and secure. Everything is in place, should you need it in the future.”

A wave of melancholy swept through Red at that moment. He wasn’t a man who thought about the future. His life was lived for today, and only today.

All the wealth, houses, cars and holding sway over his criminal empire was no replacement for someone to share it all with. To love him, would have placed a wife, or any children of his, in dire peril. So, he’d sacrificed personal happiness for the power he’d gained. 

Dembe instantly lifted him from his silent reverie. “I am not ready to let you go yet, Raymond. There is still much to do, and I wouldn’t want to lose you yet, my friend.”

Red sighed, exhaled a sigh. “The devil will come for me soon enough, I’ve no doubt.” He answered, not with a sense of self-pity, but with a reality borne of fate. “But not yet.”

“Well, you cannot leave this earth without sampling your new balling ball.” Dembe referred to Glens gift, as they shared a bemused smile.

“How’s the saying go? ‘It’s the thought that counts’?” Red chuckled in answer as Dembe pulled up to the safe house in Bethesda.

As a light snow began to descend, silently floating to earth, obscuring the landscape with wide, fat flakes, both men exited the car. Approaching the house, they spotted a box sitting on the front step. 

The plain brown wrapping was blank of any notation, other than Red’s name, but nothing more. “Don’t touch it, Raymond. Go in the house.” Dembe softly commanded. “I will check it, then bring it in. Please go.”

Carefully spying Dembe as he lifted the package, Red nodded, his arms filled with the gifts from the party, shifting them inside the door. He watched as Dembe carefully unwrapped the plain brown paper, then puffed out a relieved sigh. “It appears to be another birthday gift.” Dembe announced with a lopsided grin, bringing the box inside the house. Making his way to the spacious dining room, he placed it on the broad mahogany table, along with all the rest. 

After bidding Dembe good night, Red closed and locked the door of the quaint, three-bedroom, unassuming colonial. Located in a residential neighborhood, the quaint brick abode stood at the far corner of a dead-end street. 

Shrugging his outer garments, he draped them over the back of a chair, then added his suit jacket and tie to the neatly folded pile. His fedora sat on top of it all. Dressed only in his white silk shirt and dress slacks, curiosity filled Red as he walked to the built-in bar, lifted a crystal glass, and proceeded to pour himself a generous tumblr from Dembe's gift.

Smiling, his heart full, he turned to look upon his birthday gifts, particularly drawn to the plain brown box, curious to its contents. He took another sip of the exquisite beverage, savored the smoky taste on his tongue before swallowing it, allowing the alcohol to add to his already giddy mood. Placing the glass down, he lifted the item from the box. It held a bit of weight and was carefully encased in protective wrap.

Lifting away the protective wrapping, Red stepped back in awed surprise. It was a mantel clock.

He’d never seen anything like it in all his years.

It was exquisite. Old. Handmade. A piece of art to be sure. 

Priceless.

“Wow.” He exclaimed, lifting it with the greatest of care, and centered it on the bare fireplace mantel. Who on earth could have sent this? Mentally, he attempted to come up with the name of anyone who could have sent such an exceptional piece. No answers came to mind.

“Hmm.” Red shook his head, truly puzzled. He turned back to the box and looked inside, searching for something, anything, that would tell him where this precious timepiece came from. He saw a sheet of paper attached to the bottom of the box and pulled it out for his perusal. 

Red began to read aloud the information printed on the simply typed document:

“…Popular early Georgian style, circa 1705; handmade in England; Black lacquered piano finish cabinet, and polished triple chime movement. Plays Westminster melodies on rods. Solid brass dial with beveled glasses and gold-plated solid brass furniture. Hidden side compartment… ”

As he read on, the last notation caught Red’s eye: “A hidden compartment?” He exclaimed with delight as he read the directions step by step: how to set the time by turning the key on the bottom of the clock, not to mention instructions for a method with which to reveal the secret side door of the clock after it had been secured.

After setting and winding the clock, Red took in the steady tick-tock, then opened the glass door, revealing the bare hands of the timepiece, and followed the guidelines. He’d be able to create his own cypher, or riddle, to expose the secret drawer. 

All he needed to do was move the hands of the timepiece in three sets, press a tiny button on the bottom of the clock, and the ‘secret code’ would be set. "This is going to be fun!"

Red immediately thought of an old movie he’d enjoyed with Dembe years before while they snacked on pistachio ice cream and yogurt pretzels. Surprisingly, it had been a comedy with a bit of drama mixed in. A clock with a secret drawer had been part of that film, and Red would now base the puzzle with the numbers from the vintage film.

“Now, how did it begin?” Red asked himself aloud. “Ah, yes…Start at twelve….” He gently turned the delicate metal hands to the midnight position, then proceeded to improvise the rest of the cryptic riddle.

“Turn twice to three.” Again, with an excited smile, he moved the second hand to three – two times.

“At half past one… will open be.”

Proud of himself for constructing the riddle even in his inebriated state, he pressed the tiny button where indicated, and voila! The side panel of the clock slid open with great ease. He chuckled with glee, and promised himself to reveal the code to Dembe in them morning. 

Standing back to admire the magnificent time piece, the questions remained. Who sent it? Why was there no note in the box? Nor a return address? Red realized his life was a secret, hidden from certain factions. After several moments, he simply shrugged his shoulders, with no answer forthcoming. But no matter, he’d make inquiries tomorrow. He needed to thank the person for their thoughtfulness. Helping himself to another glass of scotch, he was lulled by the rhythmic tick-tock. 

An exhausting yet incredibly fulfilling day, he leaned over to close the drawer of the clock. But he never had the chance as his sharp sense of hearing picked up the sound of a tiny creak. He turned toward the noise and realized the terrace door was open. 

He’d had too much to drink; had been so engrossed in his own celebration that he’d grown careless. In those few moments of reckless abandon, danger had entered his sanctuary.

A hooded figure came out of the shadows, gripping a lethal firearm, complete with silencer, and pointed it at Red’s heart. “This has been a long time coming, Reddington.”

Red squinted, focusing on his assailant, recognizing his voice. This was no stranger. 

“You!”

“Seems I missed the celebration.” The intruder’s hoarse voice revealed his malice. “My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”

For the first time in years, alcohol had weakened Red’s senses. “It’s late, and I abhor rudeness, so state your business, then get the hell out of my house. Is this about the shipment that I acquired today? Because if it is, I can assure you, not one of your short-sighted associates will ever come close to my affairs. So, do your worst. The deal is done, the ink is dry, and your arrival here is pointless.”

“Always with the smart-ass talk.” Came the response as the man took a closer step toward Red. “You’re done, Reddington. Your latest deal put me and many of my associates out of business. And you have to pay for that.”

Lifting his chin, Red showed no fear, no apprehension. If these were, indeed, his last moments on earth, he wouldn’t let this punk get the last word. “You and I completed our business years ago.” He blinked, disoriented. “I’m done talking.”

Reaching for his weapon, hidden in his back holster, Red fired and missed. He sobered up quickly however, lunging at his attacker and striking him in the mouth with his gun. A trail of blood, as well as teeth, spurted from the man’s mouth, knocking him to the floor. With his head thrown back, exposing his neck. Red recognized the chain his attacker wore, and pulled the silver necklace until it broke off in his hand. 

Before Red could fire again, his adversary fired, striking Red square in the chest, causing him to stagger against the mantel, where he allowed the necklace to slip from his fingers and into the now-open drawer of the clock. Trembling from the wound, but managing to hold tight to his weapon, he aimed and squeezed the trigger, hitting his assailant in the shoulder. 

Red’s gun dropped to the floor, then pressed a hand to his wound, sensing the loss of blood. He watched as the other man clutched his own shoulder. 

As Red slumped to the floor, his heart pumping furiously to accommodate the loss of blood, he fought to keep conscious. The slamming sound of a car door took the man by surprise. Red watched as his murderer grunted in pain, then clumsily turned and ran from the house through the open door of the terrace. 

Had it been minutes? Seconds? Now Dembe was beside him; Time had no meaning as Red began to let go. He’d been shot enough times to know that this wound was lethal. 

“Raymond, who did this to you?” Dembe choked back tears as he pulled the scarf from his neck to press into Red’s wound. “We’re going to help you. Listen to my voice; stay with me.” 

As Red heard commotion all around him, his eyes began to close. A serene cloud of calm surrounded him. Was it snowing? He was so cold; all he could see was white landscape. It was the puzzle Teddy had given him, wasn’t it? A big red ball came into view; yes, the bowling ball from Glen. How thoughtful. He was cold, so cold. He needed the coat Kate had given him. That would keep him warm, wouldn’t it? He was tired now, and his desire to rest soothed him.

Red felt Dembe’s hand squeeze his own, struggled to speak, but grew weaker by the second. He could hear Dembe’s voice fade as life ebbed from him. It was over. The laughter, the music. He’d recognized the man who’d shot him. Or did he? Who was he? What was his name? 

As the chimes of the clock struck midnight, the drawer of the ancient timepiece on the mantel slowly began to slide closed and encased with it, the blood-stained proof of Red’s murder. 

Red's heartbeat slowed in time to the rhythmic bells. Heavy snow blanketed the earth, bringing with it a quiet, eerie silence to everything, except the short, quick breaths he fought for.

Dembe shook his head, tears sliding down his cheeks. Helpless to staunch the bleeding from Red’s chest, he took Red’s hands in his, reciting a silent prayer. 

Weak from loss of blood, Red used what strength that remained to squeeze Dembe’s hand, his lips moving, struggling to find his voice. 

Dembe lowered his head to place an ear to Red’s mouth. As life swept from his beloved friend, his last breath uttered a single, disjointed phrase:

“Mid-midnight….Tw-twelve...start at twel-ve.”

*****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Elizabeth Scott and the Task Force are informed of Reddington's murder, but there's no body ~ And the mystery of his death begins.....

She was late.

FBI agent Elizabeth Scott literally rolled off her bed and into the shower. Closing the glass doors behind her, she haphazardly showered and washed her hair, then in record time, prepared for work.

As if traveling in warp speed, she took a few deep breaths while quickly peering out her bedroom window to find a winter wonderland, with snow bombarding the landscape during the night. “Oh shit, where did I put my boots?” She snarled, throwing open her hall closet, tossing out various sundries until she found her target, along with thermal gloves and her navy knit wool cap.

By the time she donned the extra winter clothing, she discovered there was no time for coffee. “Damn.” 

Feeling like an unmade bed, which was appropriately literal this time of morning, she took side streets instead of the crowded highway, and in what must have been record time, parked her car, grabbed her oversized tote, and ran into the unassuming building, formerly a post office, now a transformed FBI black site.

As she stepped from the freight elevator, standing there, bless his heart, was Aram, at the ready, holding a huge, steaming take out cup of coffee. She nearly kissed him when the nutty scent wafted to her nostrils.

“You are a god, Aram.” She told him, grabbing the cup and taking a welcome gulp of the hot beverage, moaning in caffeine-induced ecstasy, while her co-worker nearly blushed.

“Scott!”

Hearing her name, she walked with Aram to the large workstation in the war room where Director Harold Cooper stood with Agents Samar Navabi and Donald Ressler.

“Glad you could join us.” Cooper taunted with a teasing smile. “Let’s get to work.”

It was then that Elizabeth turned to her left, where a long, wide clear wall of plexiglass stood. On it, through it, without a space left to see the area, were pictures, newspaper articles, copies of passport photos, and in the center of it all, was one photo.

An FBI wanted photo.

Elizabeth recognized the man. The picture was old, as the man in the photo was taken at least twenty or more years before. It was a candid shot of a man in a raincoat and fedora, hair long, scruffy beard, topped by a fedora.

“You all know who this is.”

Before she could say his name out loud, Cooper stood before the wall, demanding attention with his tall stature.

“Raymond Reddington.” They all recited in unison.

Elizabeth nodded, then added her thoughts. “He’s number 4 on FBI’s most wanted list.”

“Yes, well, he was.”

“Sir?” Ressler’s brows furrowed. “Was?”

With eyebrows raised, Cooper turned to his team. “He’s dead.”

All eyes flew to Cooper, eyes wide with surprise. Thoughts of all else forgotten, except the man whose picture was posted on the wall before them.

“Our sources say he was mortally wounded in Bethesda, in one of his many safe houses. We don’t know how, but by the amount of blood that was found, we’re guessing he was shot, point blank, probably in the heart. We don’t know why he was alone. To say we have almost no intel to go on is an understatement. He had apparently just wrapped up a major arms deal, but as far as we know, he was alone at some point late last night, ambushed, then, murdered.”

“No bodyguards? No one watching his back?” Elizabeth inquired, confused as to why this man allowed himself to be vulnerable.

“Maybe he was killed by one of his own.” Agent Navabi chimed in.

Elizabeth looked at the poster once more, noticing the date of Reddington’s birth. “Appears he was murdered on his birthday. Maybe he was poisoned? Drugged? His people may have been paid off to betray him.”

Aram commented. “If you want my opinion, it seems Mr. Reddington evaded assassination all these decades by being intelligent; seems odd he would disregard his own safety even if he did find himself alone.”

Cooper let his team discuss the possibilities of Reddington’s murder openly. So many queries, and theories, he thought. As for himself, one of few in law enforcement who’d known Reddington personally, the man who’d garnered the reputation of the ‘concierge of crime’ had been a brilliant strategist and notorious criminal, demanding - and receiving – complete loyalty from those who he associated with. “Circumstances were such that his luck finally ran out. The fact that the deal he’d apparently made with an extremely dangerous faction may not have worked in his favor.”

But there was an issue he hadn’t shared with his task force yet. “Listen up.”

They turned to face their superior and quieted.

“You may find this strange, but, there’s no body.”

It was as if their collective mouths dropped to the floor. “What?!” They asked in unison.

Cooper nodded slightly. “Stands to reason one or more of his team returned to that place and found his body, removed it so we wouldn’t be able to perform an autopsy. If I know anything of Reddington’s history, and I do, his people took care of him before the police and the FBI could inspect it properly.”

“Then how do we know he’s really dead?” Elizabeth asked.

Cooper faced her. “Apparently his team had just enough time to remove him before the police arrived at his place. There was a lot of blood. No one could have survived the loss of that much blood. Nothing else was taken, not even his hat, and coat. Nothing else has been touched. Furniture still in place, clothes in the bedroom, electricity and heat still active, food in the kitchen. Whoever killed him knew he had a small window to do the deed, then vanish.”

“I know you all have many questions.” Cooper turned and directed his next words to Agent Ressler. “You have some intel on him that you’d like to share?”

“Yes, Sir, five years ago, I tried to kill him. Tried and failed.”

“Go ahead.”

Ressler nodded, then turned to the wall, and began his own narration: “Raymond ‘Red’ Reddington, brilliant, top of his class at the Naval Academy, was being groomed for admiral.”

The task force stood rapt, as Ressler continued his report. 

“Then in 1990, he’s on his way home for Christmas to see his family and never arrives; this highly respected officer disappears from the face of the earth. Four years later, classified NOFORN documents start showing up in Maghreb, Islamabad, Beijing. Those leaks were traced to Reddington.”

He continued. “This guy had built an empire brokering deals for other criminals. He had no country, no political agenda. His only allegiance was to the highest bidder.”

“So, who killed him?” Aram nervously asked.

“Now there’s the 64-dollar question.” 

Cooper pointed to the board. “We’ve recovered only his DNA. Add to that a Glock with his prints on it, recently fired.”

"He could have wounded his assassin." Aram injected.

"That's possible." Elizabeth answered. “Where do we start? The list of his enemies is seemingly endless.” 

“That’s what Justice wants us to do.” Cooper pointed out. “We need closure for the Bureau, for the department of Justice and the White House. No matter what Reddington has done, he’s still an American citizen who was murdered, and I know this sounds all so insurmountable, but my orders are to at least find his murderer. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Where do we start, Sir?” 

Cooper turned to Elizabeth. “All of you will have your assignments. Everything else is put on the back burner, for as long as it takes. Ressler, I want you and Navabi to find out what Reddington was doing in that safe house late at night, alone, in Bethesda when he was allegedly assassinated. Aram, do your magic to trace his last steps. I have it on good intel that he’d been celebrating his birthday somewhere outside the city. Find that locale. It’s reported he had a bodyguard who was always close. Where was this person the night Reddington was killed? And why did Reddington not sense someone was close? We need to know what happened in his last moments.”

A moment of silence ensued, making it obvious each member of the task force harbored their own thoughts on the fate of the notorious criminal.

Elizabeth was instantly filled with a peculiar curious energy. She wanted, no, needed to become deeply involved with this case, to discover what caused the demise of a brilliant criminal who’d escaped capture for more than two decades.

Before she could speak up, Cooper faced her. “Elizabeth, see that box?” He pointed to the lone bin on the edge of the desk. “It contains what we know of Reddington’s life from his Navy career to the day he disappeared in 1990 and the little we know after that. Go through every sheet of paper, every tiny detail. Study them, memorize them. Tear apart his life. I’m depending on you.”

“Just that single box, Sir?” Elizabeth asked. “I thought his reputation alone would hold a room full of intel.”

Cooper couldn’t help but nod in agreement. “The reason why he’s known as the ‘concierge of crime’. We know as much as he allowed us to know. So be grateful that’s all you have.”

“Sir?” A trickle of interest deepened her curiosity.

“Go through every page.” Cooper began. “Some of it is redacted, but most of it is confidential. Needless to say, since you'll be in possession of mostly top-secret intel, I don’t consider your apartment secure enough. Settle yourself in Bethesda. Get a feel for the place. Walk in his shoes, so to speak. Understood, Agent Scott?”

“Yes, Sir.” Elizabeth nodded in agreement, her fixed expression could not hide her interest or excitement to explore the life – and death – of this man. Suddenly, she needed to go to Bethesda, to see this place…to put her profiling talents to work.

Cooper nodded, then handed her an index card with the address and several keys. “It’s an old two-story colonial on a dead-end street.”

“You can count on me, Sir.” 

“Okay, all of you. I will work with Pannabaker on my end. That’s it. I know this seems insurmountable, but it needs to be done. We are the best at what we do, and like it or not, criminal or not, we need to find Reddington’s assassin. Maybe, just maybe, we’ll discover some of his criminal associates, bring them in for questioning.”

“What if his killer is dead, Sir?” Aram asked, brows raised.

“Then we need to know that too, Agent Mojtabai.” 

Cooper pulled eyeglasses from his face, and squeezed the bridge of his nose. It was early and he could already feel the beginning of a headache coming on. “That’s it. Let’s move, people.”

As Elizabeth began to remove the info that was posted on the wall and place it in the large bin, with Reddington’s photo placed on the top of the pile, Ressler approached her. “If you need help, Liz, let me know.”

Elizabeth shook her head. This was her assignment, and she wanted to do this alone. “No, that’s okay. Thanks anyway.”

Shortly after, she left the post office, the carton of papers, and the card containing the address of Reddington’s hideaway in hand and drove to the suburbs of Bethesda.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Driving through the light snow-fall, it took her nearly forty-five minutes to arrive at her destination, trying to ignore the tiny frisson of interest that crawled up her spine. The yellow police tape told her she’d arrived at her destination. Quickly glancing at the house, she pulled her car into the spacious driveway, her sturdy tires easily crunching the snow beneath her vehicle.

Several official cars and vans were parked there, proving that the authorities were hard at work, trying to solve the puzzle of how, after over two decades, someone was capable of catching Reddington at his most vulnerable, and slay him.

The front door was ajar, and she showed the officer at the portal her credentials, and allowed to enter.

Something unexplainable settled in her belly as she entered the roomy vestibule and was immediately drawn to an open area. There, she saw, two forensic techs kneeling at the base of the fireplace. She sensed, without asking, that this was where Reddington had died, and a suffocating shroud of sadness engulfed her. 

The feeling came and just as quickly, evaporated, like a cloud of nothing. She gained back her composure, and approached the pair, who were conversing while taking samples at the floor of the flagstone fireplace, presented by a wide, marble mantel.

Sitting atop that mantel, her eyes were instantly drawn to a lovely, ornate antique clock. Not just a clock, she thought: a piece of art that attracted attention. A person didn’t have to be a connoisseur of the finer things in life to know that this was a priceless timepiece, and she hoped that the forensic people handled it with the utmost care.

She turned and spoke to the CSI team member closest to her. “I’m Agent Scott.” She pulled her I.D. from her jacket pocket and presented it. “Find anything?”

The young tech shook his head. “Seems when Reddington’s people came for his body, they must have heard the cops and high-tailed it out of here. Left everything else behind. But it doesn’t matter. The place is immaculate. Criminals like him always have a ‘cleaner’ for these sorts of things. Crazy, huh?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, then bit her inner cheek. “Hmm. Not crazy. They got what they came for. His people don’t want us to find the killer. They want to find him themselves, and deal with it.”

“Bingo.” He nodded, packing up his gear. “We’ve been here for hours; getting ready to move out. Is there anything else you need, Agent?” 

Elizabeth couldn’t seem to stop staring at that clock. She answered the tech without looking at him. “No. Thanks. I’ll take it from here.” She replied in an authoritative tone, again, she wanted no help, no assistance. This case was all hers, as far as she was concerned. Reddington was all….hers.

“Well, good luck.” The young man responded with frustration. “I guess we really didn’t expect too much. I mean, this was Raymond Reddington, the best of the best.” He nodded, his lips curved upward with apparent admiration. 

As she turned and watched the CSI team pack up their gear and exit the house, Elizabeth followed them out the door. When their vehicles disappeared, Elizabeth decided to remove the yellow crime tape that encased the property, rolled it up and threw it in a nearby trash can. It somehow marred the unassuming splendor of the house. She headed to her car in order to retrieve the heavy container that held the Reddington intel, then re-entered the house.

She gently kicked the front door closed behind her, relieved that she was finally alone. She dropped the heavy box on the floor next to the table in the dining room, then removed her coat and hat, satisfied to know that the heat in the house had remained on and in working order. Turning to toss her outer garments onto the small sofa, she was taken aback by the appearance of the coat and fedora that lay atop the dark blue love seat. 

Shaking her head, she haltingly lifted the fashionable hat from its place atop the black long winter overcoat in an inexplicable need to touch it: A well-made custom fedora, with the label of the designer stamped inside.

“What happened to you, Reddington?” She uttered softly, as if expecting an answer.

Reverently, with great care, she slid her fingers along the rim of that hat, the soft felt sliding along her skin. The knowledge that the wearer was gone forever, brought a small degree of sadness. She gently laid the hat back where she found it. There it would stay until she solved this case. 

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the bin and lifted the lid, where his 'wanted' poster lay. It was not a standard police photo, reason being Raymond Reddington had never been arrested. It was more of a candid shot: long hair, unshaven, collar turned up on a raincoat, large sunglasses, a fedora, all an obvious effort to disguise his identity. Handsome, strong chin on a face that had probably experienced more in his years on earth than she’d ever witness in a lifetime.

Moments passed as Elizabeth stared at that 8 by 10 image, unable to look away. She’d heard much about him in her years as a law enforcement officer, especially when she attended Quantico.

His poster stated his date of birth February 7th. He stood five foot ten, a hundred ninety pounds, gray eyes. Hmm.

“...Wanted for weapons violations, conspiracy, racketeering, RICO violations, destruction of government property…” Elizabeth read aloud. “You were a busy man, weren’t you?” She read the last line from the poster: ‘considered armed and dangerous’…”

She sighed, and took a last look at his photo, then returned it to the pile. She stood and stretched, taking in the room, inhaling the ambiance of this place. She yearned to inspect the rest of the house, to get acquainted with the man who’d kept this place as a temporary residence.

Hands on hips, her eyes took in a little at a time, allowing her profiling talents to settle in. He was a man who obviously enjoyed the creature comforts of a home, even one as temporary as this.

“For someone who moved around a lot, you certainly put a lot of time and care into this place.” She murmured, then turned sharply toward the fireplace mantel, where that jaw-dropping clock began to chime the hour.

She lifted her head, closed her eyes, and that's when she sniffed it: the scent of spice and sandalwood. A man’s fragrance. It surrounded her, light and clean, a natural, yet masculine scent, and it grew stronger as she stepped closer to that clock.

Lightly tracing a finger reverently over the outer domed glass, warmth shrouded her, as if wrapping her in safety. “Why am I here, Reddington?” She asked herself. 

When the bells stopped, and the clock resumed its rhythmic ticking, Elizabeth stepped from the room, anxious to see the rest of the house, to get a feel for the man who'd inhabited it, who'd died here. 

"I'm going to find who did this to you.” She vowed, running her hand over the shiny table, then across the upholstered chair, while she continued to inhale his hypnotizing, masculine scent.

It was time to explore the life – and death – of Raymond Reddington.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ensconced within the confines of Raymond Reddington's safe house, Elizabeth is unaware of February's snow and bitter cold. The expert profiler loses track of time as, through her eyes, she explores the death of the criminal mastermind. That is, until, she finds him standing before her. Is he flesh and blood? Or something else?

Foregoing the decision to examine the intel in that container, Elizabeth, instead, went in search of information via a self-guided tour through Reddington’s safe house. 

Finding her way to the kitchen, she was incredibly impressed with the restaurant look of this area. Stainless steel as far as the eye could see. Elizabeth spied two industrial stoves, a large coffee urn, an espresso maker, and an indoor grill. Hooks attached to walls held at least a dozen industrial utensils, while a refrigerator, the size of a small garage, sat against another wall. A long stainless countertop was available for preparing meals.

Speaking of meals, and unable to ignore the rumbling in her stomach, she spied the heavy bowl of apples on the counter and took one. Biting into and savoring the tart taste on her tongue, she quickly devoured the fruit, then ate another. “Everyone likes apples.” She smiled, placing the cores in a nearby trash receptacle. 

Bowls, dishes, platters and plates of all shapes, sizes and depths filled the see-through glass cabinets above the double, deep sink. Her eyes filled with surprise at the depth of the cooking implements she found. 

“Okay, I get it; it’s obvious you loved to cook.” She breathed, surprised, but intrigued, trying to imagine the gourmet meals that had been prepared here.

“I bet you made a mean Osso Bucco; maybe vichyssoise, or, beef stroganoff?” Indulging herself in a tiny smile. “Or maybe you were just as comfortable with a couple of hot dogs, a burger, or fried chicken?" She could almost imagine him enjoying a cold beer and a pulled pork sandwich.

“No, you didn’t have a personal chef.” She opened the fridge and discovered enough food to feed a small army. “You loved to do it all yourself.” She profiled.

Because, something told her, he’d been above all, an independent, lone soul. How long had he been hiding in the shadows? “I bet you’ve never spent more than a couple of days in the same place, so of course you learned to cook, to be self-sufficient.”

A spark of sadness settled in her heart as she began to profile this man. “Hmm.” She quickly discounted the random sentimentality and moved on. She ran her hand over the shiny, cold surface of the counter as she exited the room and made her way upstairs.

It was easy to find the master bedroom: it was spacious and the only room on this floor that contained furniture. 

Again, that slight hint of spice mixed with sandalwood hung in the air, sending a slight spark of awareness through her, as she drank in every detail, settling her focus everywhere.

The focal point of the room was a huge, strongly constructed king-sized bed, covered in several cashmere blankets, large pillows, and crowned by a black leather tufted headboard, sitting on a lavish area rug. A bedside table was comprised of a vintage lamp, and several leather-bound books. Paintings graced opposite walls: One, a Magritte, the other, a Jackson Pollack. 

Yes, you certainly enjoyed your creature comforts: a good book, a fine work of art, a comfortable bed. How had he juggled a life of crime, against a setting as normal as this? 

She took her time, drinking in every detail of this room, hungry for knowledge when it came to this man. She sauntered to the grand wardrobe that stood stately and tall in the corner. Opening it, she gave a tiny gasp, gazing on at least a half dozen tuxedos, white dress shirts, slacks and custom made suits. Every piece was perfectly ironed and spaced, hung on wooden hangers. Added were ties in every shade of blue, gray and burgundy, neatly placed in a side drawer, rolled up in perfectly cylindrical bunches. 

Brown and black shoes were efficiently placed on the floor, handmade, probably Italian, but surprisingly utilitarian. Not so surprising, however. The man needed serviceable footwear to get around, especially if he had to move fast, and his footware fit the bill.

Without a thought, she reached for one of his white shirts: silk, expensive, probably custom made, and lightly ran her hand down the smooth fabric, then gently pulled it from the hanger. Holding it up, she admired its designer lines and brought it to her nose, inhaling the clean laundered scent.

Holding onto the shirt a few seconds more, she closed her eyes against the soft material. He must have been a fascinating man, she thought. She was confident that whatever else she found in this house would help her uncover the answers she sought. 

She placed the shirt back in his armoire, slowly shut the wardrobe door, then returned downstairs.

She saw the entry to another room and headed in that direction. Approaching the open door of a spacious, carpeted area, she turned on a nearby floor lamp, and found herself in his office.

The first thing she detected was a faint scent of tobacco, smoke and books.

Solid oak shelves were built into the walls, from floor to ceiling. Elizabeth was genuinely impressed with this room, especially the heavily draped window, designed in deep shades of blue. Browns, golds and reds were found surrounding a massive cherry wood desk; on top sat a splendid marble chess set, with two opposing pawns already in play.

On impulse, she touched one of the black pieces and tentatively made a move. She shrugged, then spied another smaller desk where pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, were in play, the corners already formed. She took several bits and snapped them into place.

Moving to the mirrored bar, she saw no less than a dozen fine bottles of single malt scotch, vodka, cognac, bourbon and the like, standing like so many glass soldiers, not to mention an unopen case of Stella Artois. A box of fine imported cigars sat near the liquor, and she reverently lifted one from its case, sniffed it and closed her eyes against the aroma of smoky tobacco.

Deeply interested and impressed with this room, she saw a turntable near the bar, a stack of albums beside it, and looked down to see that he’d been playing a vintage vinyl recording of jazz great Charlie Bird.

Several books of poetry sat on the ledge of one bookcase, one lay open to a passage from William Henley’s Invictus: 

‘…I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul…’

“You were, weren’t you?” Elizabeth whispered, then placed the book exactly how she’d found it.

Her head filled with thoughts of Raymond Reddington, his criminal activities – and inevitable demise. She crossed to the window and moved aside the heavy velvet draperies. She’d been so engulfed in the splendor of this house; she hadn’t realized it had grown dark. The snow continued to fall and going home at this late hour ceased to become an option. She lazily stared at the surreal snowy landscape; she looked up at the drab leaden sky, colorless in the winter clouds, and spied a pinpoint of light.

A shooting star, its luminous tail trailing behind it, streaked across the snow filled sky, followed by another, and then another. How odd, she thought. She’d never witnessed that sort of brightness before.

Several moments passed, and a serenity settled over Elizabeth, mixed with a breeze of melancholy she was unable to explain. After taking a few additional seconds near the window, she allowed the thick curtains to fall back into place to cover the glass once more.

She was exhausted. Her first day here and she hadn’t even touched the intel. She’d been more interested in her visual tour of Reddington’s place, getting a feel for the man.

He’d clearly been a loner, playing chess and solving puzzles on his own. He didn’t have a wife or close ties, because the emotional toll would make him vulnerable, thus putting his life, and those he cared for, in peril.

And she wondered: for a man who’d amassed wealth beyond most people on the planet, he’d clearly enjoyed the simple things in life. She had to admit, secretly, she admired him; He must have been a powerful, albeit, interesting, brilliant man.

Too bad; she would have liked to have completed that jigsaw puzzle with from him, or shared a beer, maybe prepared a meal - beside him. 

“What a silly thing to say.” She said aloud, walking from the room, and making her way back to the living room. It was late and she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes open. 

With a wide yawn, she gazed at that clock: it was nearly midnight. It had been a long day, and she’d lost track of time. 

I’ll just rest for a bit, then continue, she told herself. She reclined on the large sofa, allowing the cover of darkness and steady ticking of that lovely old timepiece to lull her into a gentle slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the clock on the mantel began to reach the midnight hour, Elizabeth was roused by the sense that she was being watched. 

Slowly opening her eyes, she turned her head and saw a silhouette standing across from her, still as stone in the shadows. Springing to a sitting position, she automatically reached for her gun, and then realized she’d left it in her bag across the room. She was unarmed and vulnerable.

Luckily her cell was sitting on the sofa cushion beside her; with an unsteady hand, she clicked on the flashlight, pointing it toward that shadow….then cried out, nearly jumping out of her skin. “Oh my… God.” 

It was him. 

“Reddington.” She managed to whisper in stunned shock.

A voice, eerily calm and compelling, spoke. “Who are you and what are you doing in my house?”

Standing tall, mouth set in a straight line, dangerous, ready to pounce, a scowl marred his handsome features. But it was the storm brewing in those gray eyes that sent a cold shiver down her spine. 

Eyes widened, heart pounding, Elizabeth blinked in order to gain clarity, or better yet, to wake up. She was dreaming… wasn’t she?

“No, no it can’t be. You’re – you’re dead.”

“My question stands: who are you and what are you doing here?”

His gaze bored into her, demanding answers as his voice continued to harass her. Arms at his side in a commanding stance, legs apart, he waited, insistent, as if mocking her. 

Elizabeth struggled to stand but strength eluded her. Her mouth was dry, a tear slid from her eye, her hands trembled to control the light she shone on him. 

“You’re FBI, aren’t you?”

She managed to nod, speechless, unable to tear her eyes from him.

“Your name?”

What the hell? She was having a nightmare, no doubt because of her fascination with the house, and her captivation with the man, and silently prayed that whatever this was, she’d wake up – now, because this was all too real. Close your eyes, Liz, she commanded herself. You’ll wake up, and it will be morning, and the clock will stop chiming, and….

“Sc- Scott.” Her voice quivered as she answered him.

His demeanor relaxed slightly, as his head tilted to one side. “Agent Scott… a pleasure.” 

He squinted as that sharp pinpoint of light shone in his eyes. “Would you mind turning that thing off? There’s a lamp to the right of you….turn it on.”

It was not a request.

She did what she was told, moving as if in slow motion, floating. Calm down, and steady yourself, she mused. If she wasn’t dreaming, then there was only one way to explain all this: the man was still alive.

With the lamp illuminating the room, Elizabeth settled her gaze and longed to study him, to observe him. The first thing that struck her was, unlike his FBI poster that concealed his appearance with sunglasses, scruffy beard, a wide-rimmed fedora, and long hair, his appearance now exposed him to her inquisitive eyes. He was clean shaven, his hair cut close to the scalp, bringing out striking gray eyes that seemed to bore into her. She stared right back, locking eyes, and saw that time had been kind to him. He was fit, with a strong chin that spoke of wisdom, experience and outlined the rest of his visage perfectly. Masculine as well as dangerous, exhibiting a layer of untamed power lying just beneath the surface. God, he was handsome. She was then drawn to his lips, wondering what it would be like to….to….

“I hope you’ve made yourself comfortable.” He interrupted her intimate thoughts.

She shook her head. “I should have known.”

“Should have known what?” His brows furrowed.

She shook her head, holding back a smile. “Okay, you’ve manipulated your way around this ‘murder’ conspiracy and tricked the authorities into thinking you were dead so that you could escape to some far-off island or continent, and never be found. Clever, very clever.” 

His hands dug inside his pants pocket, while he focused squarely on her presence here. “Sorry to burst your bubble Agent Scott, but you are quite wrong.” 

It was then she saw his hand raise to cross over his chest, and settle. Her heart nearly stopped when she noticed the white pristine shirt he wore was marred with a wide jagged circle of crimson over his heart. Blood. A lot of blood.

“Look at me.”

She fought to find some semblance of sanity in all this madness. Raymond Reddington stood before her, flesh and – blood. Yet, he wasn’t. She fought to stay conscious. “So, you – really – are – dead?”

“It appears so.”

“That’s impossible!”

He opted not to argue with her while she was obviously quite shocked at the sight of him. He opted to distract her instead. 

“Tell me, did you see the stars?”

She knew exactly what he meant, nodded slightly. “Yes, I did.”

“Seems our interests are aligned, then.” He attempted a bit of humor, then shrugged; his eyes focused on the box of files. He bit the inside of his cheek, then slid his tongue across his teeth in a gesture she found odd, yet quietly sensual. “I assume you’ve been assigned to probe my life, and apparently, my death?” His eyes opened wide and brightened, and his light, melodic chuckle shot down her confusion a degree. “Don’t tell me, let me guess: you’re a profiler.”

“Yes, I am.”

He chuckled. “I never tire of being correct.” He pronounced, while continuing to absently rub his wound.

“By the way, since we are in my house, I think we should proceed on a first name basis, don’t you think? You obviously know mine.”

She swallowed, fighting to find her voice. “Eliz – Elizabeth.” 

He nodded, as if pleased, while his eyes drank her in, head to toe, slowly, deliberately. “Well, Elizabeth, I have a wonderful idea: let’s work together to discover the identity of my assassin, shall we, and bring him to justice? It would be a refreshing change, solving a crime, instead of committing one. Don’t you think?”

Elizabeth stood there, transfixed, her mind conflicting between dreamy imagination, and stark reality. He was here, though not really. It seemed he was, indeed, some sort of restless spirit, unable to rest until his murder was solved. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew they sounded ridiculous. But he was here, sharing conversation, inhaling oxygen, his complexion hale and hearty. She was profiler, not a clairvoyant. 

Elizabeth watched as his demeanor turned serious. A degree of sadness filled those expressive eyes as he looked at her with something akin to despair. And something in her heart ached for him.

She listened as his words were filled with soft desperation. “Help me discover who did this to me. Say yes, Elizabeth. Please.”

She’d already decided to help him, no matter what was happening here. Maybe it was those bright falling stars she’d witnessed earlier. Life was stranger than fiction, she guessed. And who was she to question the events of the universe?

Finally, she found her voice, and opted to choose the fact that he was, indeed, alive, in some sense of the word. “Can’t you tell me who did this to you? How did he get into your house? Why were you alone? Did you fight with this person? Who took you from this place? I have a hundred questions, Reddington. We can resolve this and you can, oh, I don’t know – rest in peace knowing that he or she is caught and incarcerated. Tell me.”

He drew back, and she could see he was struggling, attempting to answer her questions. He wanted nothing more. Moments passed in silence, the ticking of the clock the only constant in the room. He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know. My memory seems to have been erased, somehow.”

“But you must remember something.” Just the fact that she was standing here, in the dead of winter, in this house, talking to Raymond Reddington about his ‘murder’, caused her heart to race once more. 

“You might want to slow your breathing a bit, Elizabeth. Your adrenalin is running quite high.”

How did he..? “You can hear my heartbeat?”

“Indeed; it brought me back to this house… to you, I imagine.” Sincerity colored his voice as he stared at the clock on the mantel behind her.

“But….” So much to say, to ask, to discover. 

“I need you, Elizabeth.” He told her, his eyes silently begging for help. “We can do this together. You and me.”

She never hesitated. “Of course, I’ll help you.”

His raspy pronouncement brought her back to the moment. As she continued to stare at him, he backed up a bit more, his body fading into the nothingness. “Good.” He nodded; his lips curved upward. “We’re going to make a great team.” His smile seemed to pierce her soul, leaving her with a sense of purpose, all because of his presence here. 

Elizabeth looked on in shocked amazement as he dissolved in front of her eyes. She shook her head and blinked several times to make sense of it all. What the hell just happened? Exhausted, she sunk deep into the soft sofa cushions, still hearing a soft remnant of his voice as it floated in the air around her: 

“Until tomorrow, then. We’ll start at twelve.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Elizabeth coming to the realization that Raymond Reddington is, so to speak, not of this world, she is determined to assist him in finding his assassin.

The mantel clock struck six, rousing Elizabeth from slumber. 

She’d fallen asleep on the sofa again, and inwardly groaned from the backache she’d experienced. 

But that wasn’t important. Her mind focused on one thing and one thing only.

Reddington.

He was dead. No, he couldn’t be. But he could, couldn’t he?

A ghostly specter; a haunting vision. A figment of her imagination?

He was in human form; This was impossible. 

Elizabeth fought to keep her composure. There was a rational explanation for this – for him…..wasn’t there?

It was barely light outside, with only a slice of illumination shooting through the drapes from the bay window.

Slowly adjusting her sight to the dim morning light, she heard the wintry wind, blustery and whistling against the glass. 

Then she realized something: a feather soft navy-blue cashmere blanket had been thrown over her. “What on earth?”

Confusion fought with rationalization and both were fogging her brain. Drawing her hands through her wealth of hair, she took several deep breaths, and rose to a sitting position. Taking in her surroundings, she grabbed at the soft covering. There it was, that now familiar scent of spice and sandalwood.

“I need a gallon of coffee.” She commented wryly. "And later, maybe something stronger." She rose from the sofa, stretched her legs and back, yearning for a shower, a change of clothes and most definitely, a toothbrush.

The silence of the house was broken only by the ticking of the clock, and the tempest outside. No wonder she’d had such vivid dreams. She felt as if she was in the middle of a Gothic novel. The ghostly vision, the mysterious antique clock and the handsome ‘ghost’ who begged her to solve his own murder!

“Yeah, I have to get out of here, clear my head.” She commented to the room, while looking down at the bin that contained his files and dossiers. His last words to her were to the effect that they were going to make a ‘great team.’ And something about, “starting at twelve”, whatever that meant.

Trying hard not to freak out, she prepared to leave. Making her way around the table she nearly slipped, gaining purchase on a nearby chair before she fell on her ass.

“What the hell?!" She looked down at the dark, polished floor. And gasped.

Footprints, wet outlines of snow laden shoes, were imprinted on the shiny surface.

Elizabeth froze to the spot, a cold shard of fear shooting up her spine.

Someone had been here.

Grabbing her jacket and reaching for her weapon, she took a stance. “Who’s here? Come out…now.”

No sound; Only that damn clock and the creepy wind emoting in the early morning light.

And then she looked over at the terrace door: It was unlocked and cracked open.

Was Reddington still in the house? When did she fall asleep? Was he watching her sleep? “What the hell is happening?”

“If you’re here, Reddington, I need you to show yourself. Now!”

But how could that be? He was dead.

Wasn’t he?

Shaking her unreasonable thoughts, she holstered her gun, grabbed her car keys, large tote bag, and locked the terrace door from the inside. Grabbing her cell, she took several photos of those footprints, and the blanket, if only to prove later that she wasn’t losing her mind.

Heart racing, all her senses on overdrive, she rushed from the house, locked the door. Her feet sunk six inches deep in the freshly fallen snow, yet she trudged through it. Silently thanking the gods for four-wheel drive, she took one last look at the unassuming property, then drove home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A veiled specter standing outside the terrace door, hidden in the dawn shadows, Reddington watched her drive away. He needed answers, and sensed, somehow, this woman would help find them.

Why was he unable to recall the events of his death? Why did he harbor a feeling of doom unless he found the solution he sought? And why her? This lovely FBI agent: Elizabeth Scott. Beautiful, intelligent, eyes like sparkling sapphires, sharp as a tack, and a profiler. Yes, she was the one who’d help him. When that clock had struck midnight, he’d returned to the place where he died. The only place he felt some sustenance of his former self was in this house – only here. It appeared he was unable to leave the premises. Intuition, mixed with a sense of resolve, told him that until his death was proven and resolved, he wouldn’t be able to move on.

Move on? To where? Heaven? Hell? And where was this in-between place he’d found himself in at the moment? He shook his head in subtle confusion, combined with the absurdity of it all. Yes, Hell would be a reasonable destination for him, though he didn’t think the devil wanted him - yet. What he did know, however, that whatever humanity in him remained, redemption awaited him. 

And Elizabeth Scott would be the only living being who could assist him in that endeavor. They’d been able to communicate and even though a bit confused, she’d seemed to take his deathly appearance in stride.

“Elizabeth.” He closed his eyes, savoring the manner in which his lips shaped her name, rolling on his tongue. He'd recalled the gentle curve of her neck, her porcelain features, that long mane of dark hair. She’d agreed to help him without hesitation, and that proclamation had given him some semblance of hope. 

He averted his gaze to the bin that held the sum of his life – his criminal life. He smiled, thinking that the FBI knew nothing about him, not really. 

The whistling wind whipped up the soft snow drifts where he stood outside the glass door. Yet he didn’t feel the cold. Rubbing his chest where his heart used to beat rhythmically, he was impatient to see her again, and here he'd remain until midnight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A typical winter's day, Elizabeth shivered as she turned up the heat and turned on the radio for the weather report. More snow in the forecast, temperatures falling to single digits, with a prediction of the ‘coldest winter in decades’. “Ah, welcome to February.” She proclaimed, as she took the highway back to her apartment. Taking great care maneuvering the slippery roads, she couldn’t take her mind from the events of last night.

Her mood matched the day, and her thoughts matched her disposition: Reddington. Murdered. The blood. That clock. The house. All of it.

And then waking up this morning, a blanket covering her. She’d never seen a blanket in that room.

And the snow laden footprints right where he’d stood.

“No, no, no.” She denied, finally approaching her apartment, parking the car and heading to her front door. “It was a dream, and I must have left those footprints, that’s all.” She reasoned, all the while knowing that her words were false.

“I know what I saw.” She continued to talk to herself while letting herself in her apartment, throwing down her tote, and shedding her clothes, walking to the bathroom for a welcoming, hot shower.

As she regulated the water, she stepped inside the steamed bath stall, she allowed the hot spray to refresh and relax her. Moments later, she was dry and dressed for the cold in black leggings, a heavy knit crimson turtleneck sweater, and heavy, thick socks.  
Drying her hair, she tied it into a tight ponytail, and looked around.

There was no sense in going back and forth to the safe house while there was work to be done. Her decision made, she dragged a rolling piece of luggage from her closet, and packed enough clothes to last at least a week. 

Making sure her apartment was in order, she pulled on her high snow boots, grabbed a heavier down filled jacket, leather gloves, and her black knit cap. She turned off the lights, locked her door and prepared to venture out, luggage and bags in hand.

On the way back to Reddington’s, she stopped at the market, picked up a few essentials: fresh milk and bread, cookies, pretzels and fresh bagels. Reddington’s fridge had been thoroughly stocked with plenty of food, yet she wanted to do her part to contribute to her own wellbeing. 

Armed now with all she needed to sequester herself inside Reddington’s hide-away, she drove back to Bethesda.

Yet, every moment of her journey was filled with thoughts of those unanswered questions:

“Can it be possible he really is a restless spirit? Returning to discover who killed him?”

She allowed herself a tiny chuckle, thinking back on an old movie she’d once seen with Sam when she was just a little girl.

A film about a young widow who’d purchased an old home along the shore of New England, near a lighthouse, where a sea captain once lived a hundred years before. Legend had it he’d never left the house, and returned as a ghostly specter, then became friends with the young woman. They fell in love, and through the years, as she grew old, he waited for her. When she finally passed on, he came for her, took her hand, and together, they entered eternity.

Why did Elizabeth choose this moment to think of that movie?

“Maybe I’m in the Twilight Zone or something?” She mused, driving onto the highway toward her destination, while a tiny pinpoint of light broke through the grey-laden skies and brightened on its way streaking across space and time.  
Blinking twice, she concentrated on the road, and came to several conclusions.

If Reddington had been alive, and returned to his place just to gather up whatever he needed to go on the run and disappear, why had he spoken to her? 

As soon as she returned to Bethesda, she would begin her work. She’d unpack every file and folder from that box and create a timeline with what she was given. This was her job, and she would discover the assassin, and maybe then, he could rest in peace – and her mind would quietly come to terms with….

With what? The fact that Raymond Reddington was murdered in that house, and now, he was not alone – he had her to help him…and she would.

It was then and there she decided to believe him. Why? Well, why not? Who knows what other mysteries existed in the world? She wasn’t one to hallucinate or daydream, nor had she ever experienced an image, so vivid, so real. That blood stain on his shirt was real, she was certain of that. No matter what, he was there, in the flesh, so to speak, and in no uncertain terms told her he was, indeed, deceased. 

No, no. Elizabeth was not scared. On the contrary, she was more than curious, not to mention, determined to discover what went on in that house. Those footprints were not hers, she realized that now, and she did not cover herself with that soft blanket. 

It was him. He’d cared enough to keep her warm.

Finally reaching her destination, the wind whipped up around her, then slapping her body against the chill. She rushed to unlock the door, determined to enter that warm sanctuary. She dragged her bags inside, pushed it closed behind her, then locked it.

“Brrr, oh God it’s cold out there.” She took a deep breath, then toed off her snow boots. She welcomed the heat that radiated throughout the house. Hanging up her jacket and hat on the coat tree, she made her way around the large room, switching on lamps in order to flood the area with light. 

Taking in the conjoined living/dining area, she sighed. This would be her home for a while, and she sensed a feeling of solace and ease. For some crazy, insane reason, this was where she belonged. 

She brought the grocery bags into the kitchen and put the snacks in a nearby cabinet. She spied a coffee maker on the counter, searched for coffee and brewed a huge pot to last her through the day. Digging in one of the bags, she pulled out a still-warm cinnamon raisin bagel, pulling apart the warm dough, and devouring the dual flavors. Several china cups sat in a cabinet, and she took one down, admiring the wide gold rim as she gently gripped it. Had this been his favorite cup? No matter. It was hers now. 

While waiting for the coffee to brew, she decided to take her luggage upstairs. She pulled her bags up the stairs. Upon entering the room, again she was assailed by his masculine scent. Closing her eyes, she softly inhaled the intoxicating essence, feeling comforted; it was as though he was near.

As the rich, nutty scent of coffee wafted to her nostrils, she followed the trail downstairs, and poured herself a cup of the strong, hot, brew.

Leaning against the counter, she finished her bagel, then dipped inside the bag and ate half of another. After two cups of strong caffeine, she rinsed out the cup, and walked from the room. She squatted beside the box of intel, began to pull out each file, and spread them the length and breadth of the dining table.

Time to go to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the other side of the terrace door, feeling no sense of the bitter cold day, Reddington watched over her, admiring her tenacity. He smiled, his heart filled with quiet gratitude for this woman, who’d agreed to help him, regardless of his plight.

Regardless of who he was, and what he’d done during his life. 

He was unable to leave the property; he’d tried and failed; he was tied here, to the place where he’d been taken from this mortal coil. Instinct told him that he’d forever be cursed to this place unless his murder was solved. 

Purgatory was a place between life and death, he believed. And if he didn’t solve the mystery of his demise, he’d wander this property for eternity. It was a daunting thought, and Red attempted to place it aside.

He now had someone to help him: The beautiful Agent Elizabeth Scott. Warrior. Investigator. Courageous. Tenacious.

His memories failed him for the most part, bits and pieces coming and going as time passed. He knew he was attacked near that clock.

Yes, that clock. 

As his hand pressed to his blood-stained shirt, he continued to settle his gaze on her. 

He wouldn’t be able to enter the house until midnight, for reasons still unknown to him.

“I’ll return.” He murmured, knowing she couldn’t hear him.

Once more, he stared at the lovely timepiece, the rhythmic ticking creating a degree of serenity within his restless soul.

“Bring me back to life, Elizabeth.” He placed his palm on the glass.

Only she could save him now.

She was the one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another man, this one alive, flesh, blood and bone, sat across the street in the unassuming silver Nissan two houses away from Reddington's safe haven.

He took pictures of the car parked in the driveway. Using a professional tele-photo lens Canon camera, he focused on the woman who’d entered the house with luggage and grocery bags. Had Reddington been married? Was this his wife? No, there was no record of Reddington having a wife or partner. This woman had to be some sort of securities official - or a Fed.

It was normal for the authorities to continue their investigation; however, what would they find? Nothing. He felt for his missing necklace, and cursed himself for the thousandth time, knowing he shouldn’t have worn it that night. Reddington had ripped it from his neck, then thrown it in the open drawer of the clock while he’d stumbled for balance after being mortally wounded. No one knew that his blood and symbolic insignia were engraved on the silver pendant, and if found, it was over, whether by the feds, or by the powerful, highly dangerous organization he worked for. No question, he’d be eliminated without mercy, without question.

He should have grabbed that goddamned clock on his way out of the house, but there was no time to lose. Reddington’s people had been mere seconds away, no less than three cars arriving at break neck speed. A tall black man rushed from one of the vehicles with other men, fully armed, right behind him. No time to retrieve the only item in that house that could identify him as Reddington's killer. He allowed himself a tiny smile, however, proud of the fact that he'd finally put an end to the concierge of crime. Once he had that clock in his possession, the case would become a dead end for all time, and he would gain the reputation of being the man who'd finally put an end to the reign of the infamous criminal mastermind. 

It was obvious the timepiece had been overlooked. The cops had been so busy searching for physical and visual evidence, they’d ignored the one item that was crucial in solving Reddington’s assassination. 

He had to get inside that house and get that clock.

He just needed to remain patient and seize the moment. Whether or not that woman got in his way made no difference.

If she must become collateral damage - so be it.

It came down to him – or her.

And he had no intention of leaving that clock behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming to the realization that Red is, indeed, a spirit, Elizabeth is ever more determined to solve the mystery of his murder; the respect they have for one another is mutual; the attraction they share, is growing as well.

Hands on hips, Elizabeth stared at the files that filled every inch of that table.

It had taken hours to place everything from that box in chronological order, starting with information from Reddingtons days in the Navy, approximately three decades before. The last file ended with the abbreviated information regarding his death. 

Munching on a grilled cheese sandwich, she’d lost count on how many cups of coffee she’d consumed since the morning. Once again, the day had gotten away from her, and it was late afternoon. The clock predictably struck the five o’clock hour; she drained the last drops of caffeine and popped the remaining sandwich in her mouth.

Clapping her hands, she stood over that table, now her point of focus.

“Okay, Reddington, tell me a story.”

Picking up the folder containing his Navy information, she yearned to know everything about his younger years, particularly the fact that he was being groomed for Admiral. And then that tragic, horrid Christmas Eve.

Her profiling talents kicked in, and she could imagine him hurrying home to his family on shore leave, arms laden with Christmas gifts, looking forward to arriving home to his wife and young daughter.

A day that ended in tragedy.

Elizabeth sunk into the sofa as she continued to read. Reddington had never been found after that Christmas Eve day in 1990; all that was discovered was blood; So much blood.

Staring at the crime scene photos, Elizabeth gasped, her heart pounding at the sight of so much ruin. A tear slid down her cheek, and she sniffed back more, in an attempt to stifle her emotions. 

After that day, Reddington had disappeared, never to be found, apparently, nor apprehended and arrested. All these years existing in the shadows, always one step ahead of the law. Moving from place to place, involved in countless nefarious activities.

Yet before his disappearance, he had simply been a man, with a family. Elizabeth scanned through his Naval records: brilliant military mind, spotless record, respected by all who worked with him. 

She leafed through the back of the records, and found nothing, no information at all and no evidence was ever found regarding the death of his family.

“Who killed your family, Reddington?” She softly asked, staring at his official Naval photo. Straight and serious, stoic in his stance, handsome in his dress uniform, Elizabeth couldn’t seem to tear her eyes from him. This photo was taken before the loss of his family. His mesmerizing eyes, although serious, were filled with content, and serenity.

She ran a finger down the length of his face, admiring the man she’d never known, and vowing to do whatever her powers as a profiler would allow in order to bring his killer to justice.

Page after page, folder after folder, Elizabeth studied and profiled, read and read until the words blurred on the page. She yawned, grew tired…needed to close her eyes for just a few minutes….  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Midnight.

As the clock began to announce the midnight hour, the terrace door slid open, and Reddington entered the house.

He stared at the clock as the chimes struck, then averted his gaze to the dozing woman sitting up on the sofa, still completely clothed, an open file on her lap.

Crossing over to her, he lifted the file, then covered her with the blanket, just as he did the night before. Daring to touch her, compelled to feel her warmth, he tenderly slid a stray lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail and draped it over her shoulder.

Warmth filled him for the first time since he was shot, and he smiled down at her, then moved to the table, sat down, and settled in with the file she’d been reading before she’d fallen asleep.

She’d been hard at work, helping him.

Him. A man she never knew. A criminal. A notorious liar. 

Opening the file, he began to recall his life, found within the pages.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A single chime awakened her, and Elizabeth opened her eyes to see the lights on, a blanket thrown over her.

He was here, she could feel his presence. He was sitting at the table, folder open, engrossed in whatever lay within the pages, and addressed her without looking up.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable, Elizabeth.” He looked up and met her sleepy sky-blue eyes. “It’s late; You’ve done enough for today. Go to bed.”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up, then looked at him. “You’re back.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?” He closed the folder and clasped hands on the table. “I thought I mentioned last night that we were a team. I hope you’re not having second thoughts? An FBI agent going back on her word? I hope not.”

He was teasing her! A ghost, in this house, playing with her, goading her to challenge him. Well, it wasn’t going to work. “Very funny. Look, I gave you my word. How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” 

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

He raised his head, and managed a tiny smile. “You’re awake now.”

She frowned, and nodded, while he looked around the room. He missed this place. “What do you think of the house?”

Before she could answer, he did it for her. “I usually don’t spend more than three or four nights in one place, but my friend, Marvin, offered it to me while he and his wife Becky are off on a second honeymoon to a little banana plantation I own.”

Elizabeth followed his gaze. “I know what you mean. It’s cozy and kind of grows on you. I have so many questions; for instance, do you like to cook? The kitchen is fully-stocked.” 

He smiled, meeting her gaze. “There’s a secret stash of Belgian chocolates in the cupboard near the fridge. Please, feel free to indulge. They will go perfect with the honey-caramel gelato in the freezer.”

She could listen to his voice all day. She returned his smile and took a chair across from him. They stared at each other for a moment before he broke the connection. Resting her chin in her hand, she encouraged him silently to continue. And he did.

“Tell me, Elizabeth: do you play chess?”

Her cringing expression told him everything, causing him to chuckle, a cute sound that sent a tiny sliver of awareness through her.

“How about jigsaw puzzles? You must enjoy an occasional brainteaser. After all, being a profiler, puzzles are your business, are they not?”

“Yes, they are, and we need to get to work, don’t you think?”

He blinked, handed her a file. “What have you found so far? Anything?”

She took the folder she’d been working on, opened it and exhaled. “Well, I started with your Naval career, and the loss of your family.” She swallowed hard, paused for composure. “I’m so sorry.”

Instead of an answer, he chose to change the subject. “We can move forward from those issues. Let’s move on to the mid-nineties, shall we?”

She nodded in ascent. “You’ve certainly lived a colorful life. The stories you could tell.” 

He nodded. “Elizabeth, you have no idea.”

They shared laughter, and in that moment, Elizabeth was prepared to do anything to make sure, one way or another, that she’d obtain salvation for him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Time flew, the clock reminding them of the hours passed, and they worked.

At one point she’d lost track of time, and raised her head from another file to see him absently rubbing that blood-stained spot on his chest.

“Does it hurt?” She whispered.

He slowly met her questioning eyes but didn’t answer. He was good at side-stepping her questions, she noted, tucking that information away for another day. Instead, he handed her several thin files. “You can return these to the bin; they’re of no use to me.”  
She nodded. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

He averted his gaze, shrugged. “Not exactly the way I saw my celebration ending -- ” He suddenly inhaled a tiny gasp. “My birthday.” He murmured as if a memory had been revived.

Elizabeth’s eyes brightened. “What else do you remember from that night?”

His expressive eyes held a hint of mirth. “Gifts. Laughter. Friends. That’s all.” 

He seemed to be struggling, and on impulse, Elizabeth slid her hand across the table and touched his own in a comforting gesture. “Don’t push it. It will come back. I know it will.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m here.”

His skin was cool to the touch, yet she didn’t pull away. He looked up at the clock just as it struck five. 

“Dawn is breaking; It’s time to go.”

A wave of melancholy filled her. Sadly, Elizabeth didn’t want him to leave. Whatever he was, she cared about him, wanted only to help him in any way she could, so that he might move on to – well, to wherever he needed to be.

He interrupted her thoughts in a soft, comforting voice. “I’ll return at midnight.” He announced, breaking her contact and standing to leave. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”

As the chimes proclaimed the hour, she nodded and looked up at him. “You’re welcome.”

“Go to bed.” He softly commanded as he stepped back to fade into the shadows, taking a last look at her, the way that deep crimson sweater hugged her curves, those leggings molded to her slender muscled legs. Her hair was a tousled mess, and those lovely eyes were tired from reading and working all day. “My bed, Elizabeth; you need to rest comfortably.” 

And with that, he was gone, leaving her with the memory of that deep-timbered voice telling her to sleep in his bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He watched her from the shadows when she turned out the lights and headed toward the stairs. She’d sleep in the place where he’d once lay between cool sheets. This woman, who’d touched his hand, knowing he was no more, consoled him, assured him she’d work until all was solved. This warrior; tenacious, determined; brave, smart.

Elizabeth.

As the day brightened, snow once more began to fall lightly, piercing the gray clouds to float silently, quietly to earth. Flawlessly, effortlessly existing just to melt away as the fat flakes drifted in whiteness through the morning light.

Just like him: drifting, quiet, existing only for a short time, until the day he would be free to melt away and rest.

And yet, as he absently touched his wound, he could feel a slight beating of his heart, every time he thought of her. His savior.  
He thought he’d be fine to solve his own murder, to walk away in peace once it was done and over. He’d led quite the life, filled with horrendous lows, and splendid highs with no regrets. He was who he was, no complaints, no excuses.

However, whatever he was now, a specter, a restless spirit, caught in a place between death and life, brilliant light and eternal night, for the first time, he felt regret.

He regretted the fact that he’d never grow to truly know Elizabeth Scott; would never gain the chance to truly know her, talk to her, smile and laugh with her, touch her.

A chance to fall in love with her.

He’d committed heinous acts for profit, gain and power; those files she possessed would tell her only a fraction of the deeds he’d committed after that horrific Christmas Eve all those years ago.

Raymond Reddington didn’t apologize; never killed anyone who didn’t deserve to die. And yes, it appeared his present birthday would be his last; he’d been ambushed. Yes, he recalled a tiny crumb of his memory concerning that event.

Closing his eyes, ignoring the cold and snow and wind, he knew now it was a man who’d killed him, who’d cornered him, ambushed and shot him.

Who was he? Who? Who?

As moments passed, he pressed to gain more of his memory, to no avail.

Elizabeth would help him tonight, when he returned at midnight. Until then, he’d watch over her. He imagined her sleeping in his bed. She would have removed her heavy outer clothing, and crawled beneath his soft cashmere blankets, closed those lovely, intelligent blue eyes, and float into slumber.

His body stirred with thoughts of her, and he closed his eyes against the sensation.

“I want to come back.” He murmured. For a man who’d never prayed in his life, he offered up a solemn thought of hope. “All I desire is to gain redemption, to start again….please.” He pleaded to a deity he wasn’t sure existed.

He wanted another chance at life. With her. He’d been drawn to her the second he’d seen her.

She was his second chance.

Because he didn’t, couldn’t leave her once this was all over.

Because… nothing was worse than losing her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As more intel is revealed in the case of Reddington's murder, Elizabeth notices changes in him, more and more: his blood stained shirt is fading, his flesh, warmer, and his memory, returning; little by little as more is revealed; As they tirelessly work together, they become closer, their attraction palpable; There is something happening between them, whether caused by a change in the weather, the stars, or simply fate.

Elizabeth jolted awake.

“What? Where am I?”

Taking in her surroundings, she sat up. "“Oh yeah….Reddington.”

She’d slept peacefully in his soft, comfortable, cloud-like bed. Stretching like a contented feline, she peaked out the window to her right. No snowfall this morning, and the wind had died down, and was it possible? A tiny slice of sunlight shone its way into the room and across the bed. 

Sunlight? How long had she slept? Grabbing her phone from the bedside table, she blinked twice to see it was nearly Noon.

Shaking her head in denial, the clock downstairs reminded her, that indeed, it was already mid-day.

“Well, we did work long into the night, until he chased me up here.”

We.

Reddington and her. Together. The FBI agent and the ghost.

She nearly laughed at the sound of it. “Sounds like a bad romance novel.” She rose from the bed, and stretched again, feeling rejuvenated. Leaning back to grab a pillow, she inhaled the clean scent, hoping to catch that spicy aroma that belonged only to him.

Hugging that fluffy cushion to her body, she couldn’t stop thinking about him, his appearance last night and the certainty that he was, indeed, an otherworldly being. How that was earthly possible? She had not a clue, and at this point, was open to any type of interpretation.

Don’t fight it, just go with it, she told herself. “Maybe something shifted in the universe, the stars or... something.” She shrugged. 

In the meantime, there was only one truth: Reddington existed in some form, and she couldn’t wait to see him again.

Placing the cushion back in its place, she reluctantly slid out from under the baby-soft cashmere blankets and made her way to the bathroom that connected the two rooms. She showered then swaddled herself in a thick, fluffy towel.

On impulse, she padded over to his armoire and opened it, spotted a pearl gray thermal pull over, and didn’t hesitate. She plucked it from the hanger, held it to her face a moment, then donned the heavy shirt. It fit loose and long for her body, but she didn’t care; she caressed the soft fabric, rolled up the sleeves, then saw an adjoining drawer with thick white athletic socks. She sat on the bed and slid them over her small feet, wrapping her toes in a cloud of warmth.

She opened her luggage and grabbed her own sweatpants and toiletries then brushed her teeth, pulled her hair back into a ponytail and headed downstairs for her morning jolt of caffeine. Famished, she entered the kitchen and decided to prepare bacon, eggs and bagels for herself. While waiting for the completed meal, she decided she’d wait for Reddington tonight instead of napping or dozing off. In the meantime, she’d leaf through more files, particularly bits and pieces of intel she’d come across before she’d fallen asleep.

“Nothing proved or in evidence.” She told herself while flipping bacon and scrambling eggs. “A hint of a ‘secret’ organization? That’s like saying the Illuminati and Opus Dei were real.”

Her breakfast feast in hand, she placed the plate on the table, and found the file that caught her attention. Much of the pages were redacted, others held a barrage of names she didn’t recognize, but all had piqued her curiosity.

“Peter Kotsiopolis, Leonard Caul….hmm?”

She must remember to ask Reddington about these names, and the myth of this organization. Maybe it would spark – something.

Her cell buzzed and she smiled: Director Cooper.

“Hello Sir.”

“Elizabeth, tell me. How’s your investigation going?”

She put her fork down. “Slow, but sure. I’m ruling out some, deeming others to be a possibility. I have a question for you: Have you ever heard of some sort of organization, maybe formed since the Kennedy era? Secret? Clandestine?”

A pause on the other end, then, “Yes, conspiracy theories have been discussed and discarded on and off since the 60’s, but nothing gelled. No matter. Explore every possibility. Look, Reddington was into everything: arms, selling government secrets, stolen art and artifacts, crimes that involved big money. You have before you whatever crumbs we could garner on his criminal activities. Don’t rule anything out, Elizabeth.”

She walked to the kitchen while he spoke, pouring herself a second cup of coffee from his china cup. “I won’t.” She took a sip.

“There is so much we don’t know, but I want to put a lid on this investigation, and I hope you can find something soon.”

Elizabeth looked around the room, loving the coziness of it. She felt like she belonged here….with him.

“I’ll keep in touch, Sir. Thanks for calling.”

“By the way, we found two associates of his, but it’s a long shot that they will reveal anything. His attorney, Marvin Gerard, who, ironically is serving time in prison for embezzlement, and his former bodyguard, guy by the name of Dembe Zuma.”

“Will you call them in for questioning, Sir?”

“It’s being arranged by Pannabaker. I’ll keep in touch, Elizabeth. Good luck.”

After disconnecting the call, Elizabeth set both names to memory, crunched on a crispy slice of bacon, then set to work. She had lots of questions for Reddington when he appeared tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A tiny quiver of anticipation gripped her as midnight drew near. Reddington: Dead. Ghost. Specter. Phantom.

She nearly laughed at the impossibility of it all. No matter. She’d worked hard all day, trying to put together some sort of timeline that would explain, and maybe, just maybe, help to solve this horrific crime.

Also unexplainable was the fact that she was wearing his shirt, his socks. A connection to this place, to him, without rhyme or reason continued to gnaw at her. 

Nothing mattered, nothing was as important as finding his killer. She’d stay here as long as it took: hours, days, weeks, to make sure she found justice for Raymond Reddington.

She cared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later found her munching on yogurt pretzels, preparing photos and papers to show him when the clock struck midnight. And suddenly, he was there, standing on the other side of the table. 

There was something different about him tonight.

Along with the cessation of the snowfall, the wind, and the bitter cold, he was different. But what?

"Good evening, Elizabeth. Seems you’ve been hard at work.”

Heart racing, a smile curving her lips, she swallowed, not frightened, yet a bit startled when he just appeared out of the blue the same time every night. “Hi.”

He smiled, and his face seemed to light up at her greeting. “Hi.”

And then she saw it: his shirt. The blood splatter in the center of his chest had faded somewhat. No, that was impossible. It was probably the lighting in the room. 

Stop! She told herself. Don’t deny it. As a profiler, she missed nothing. The damn blood stain was fading.

Should she mention it to him? Hmm. Not yet. They had work to do.

She pushed several photos across the table to him. “Who are they, Reddington?” She wanted so much for him to recall these men who obviously had a place in his past. “Do you know them? Please try.”

He stared intently at the photos while rubbing that spot over his chest that had started off deep red, and now, was at least a shade lighter, maybe dark pink. The chimes ceased, and the clock continued its rhythmic tick-tock. Elizabeth had grown to love that clock and its pulse.

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his head to meet her gaze. Those expressive eyes bored into her: gray, but tonight, mixed with a bit of green, sending a ribbon of awareness down her belly. The man never failed to fascinate her. 

He pointed to the first photo. “Dembe. My friend and closest confidante.” He furrowed his brows in order to dig deep inside his mind. “He took me from here after I was shot. He…he held my hand and kept talking to me; he soothed me until I passed. Yes. Yes. Dembe.”

Elizabeth nearly jumped out of the chair with excitement. “Yes!” She pumped her arm in victory as Reddington chuckled lightly. “How about the next photo?”

Reddington nodded, as memories trickled back. “Leonard Caul, another trusted associate, who helped me….”

Lifted his hand to his forehead, he dug deep inside his mind. “He somehow led me to him.” Pointing to an older, gray-haired bespeckled man, Reddington nodded. “Yes, that’s Peter Kotsiopolis.”

“Who is he? And did he have any connection with your assassination? Try to remember, Red.”

She called him Red. Both realized it the moment she said it: natural, endearing, proving their connection. “My closest associates call me that.” He smiled at her. “It feels right, Elizabeth.”

She side-stepped the comment and continued while they had the momentum. “Okay. According to my files, we know little, if nothing about Kotsiopolis. Is there anything you can add –”

“He’s a dangerous operative.” Red began, his mind working as proficiently as possible. “Connected to an organization that is so secretive, so little is known.”

Elizabeth rifled through more papers, found a bit more, slid the folder over to him. Purposely, he caught her hand, resting his fingers upon her own. Before she could ask, he tightened his fingers around hers. “It’s not a myth, Elizabeth. It’s real, and Kotsiopolis is just one head of this particular hydra.”

The clock struck one, then two, as both of them read, studied, and discussed the ramifications if this ‘organization’ had anything to do with Reddington’s demise. They were as one, handing papers and files back and forth to one another, with Reddington slowly recovering past memories, recalling names, places, possibilities.

“I think we’re on the right track.” She yawned at one point late into the night, then stretched her arms above her head, causing Red to smile in admiration at the tenacity and determination of this woman. 

“How about a short break?” He nodded then rose from the table. “A snack, perhaps? Did you find my secret stash of Belgian chocolates and butter rum gelato from the freezer?”

He could see her practically lick her lips in anticipation of a sweet snack break, and his body warmed at the thought of being with her every night like this. She amazed him with her intelligence, her profiling talent, her guileless demeanor. How I wished we’d known each other in another life, Lizzie, he thought, as she covered another yawn with those lovely fingers of hers. We could have been quite the couple. The criminal and the profiler!

She never hesitated, rose and followed him to the kitchen. As he provided the promised treats, he reveled in the way she knew where the utensils were located. She grabbed a huge serving spoon, foregoing a regular tea spoon, and dug into that gelato. Moaning at the orgasmic flavors of the Belgian chocolates as well, he couldn’t help but enjoy every second of her passion for the finer things in life, mainly: sugar!

His low chuckle caught her attention. “What’s so funny?”

His tongue slid across his lower lip as he shook his head in mirth, but didn’t answer her. Instead, he looked at the clock, just as it struck four a.m.

Then she licked the spoon, her tongue darting out to take every drop of the cool treat, and he couldn’t help but lift his thumb to gently wipe a bit of chocolate from the side of her mouth. His heart raced like a runaway train.

Elizabeth froze to the spot. Drawn to him like a bee to honey, and without a doubt or caution, she lifted her head, offering herself to him. 

There was nothing he wanted more than to take her, touch and taste her, but…but… “It’s getting late; You need to sleep. We can continue this tomorrow.”

She accepted his rejection in the midst of all that was happening here. Again, she touched his hand; hmm, not so icy as last night. She whispered. “We still have an hour. I’m not tired, really. Please don’t go. Not yet.”

Eyebrows raised, he relented. How could he ever say ‘no’ to her?

“Good.” She saw his subtle surrender. “Now, tell me what you know about this…what would you call this secret organization?”

“The Cabal.” The word came to Reddington while she looked on. And then his eyes brightened as awareness seeped into his mind. “This house. There’s information in this house concerning the Cabal, Elizabeth.”

“What? Where?” Once again, she closed in on him. “We have to find it…now!”

His body reacted as she drew closer. A faint scent of her shampoo, her feminine warmth seeped through him like life-giving oxygen. He was aroused by her excitement. His chest rose and fell in synch with her own. He felt….alive.

To his utter amazement, she grabbed his shoulders and held on. “Think, Red. Where is it? Do you think there is someone in this organization that could lead us to your death? Is this Peter Kotsiopolis connected somehow? Come on, we have to find this intel!”

He wanted to touch her, bring her body closer to his, breathe in her warmth, her vibrancy, her life-giving essence. In her excitement, had she even realized what she was doing to him? Could she imagine how deeply her touch affected him so? He reveled in the fact that she wanted to help him….help him be free so that he could cross over and find peace.

Why did the thought of moving on deluge him with grief? Because at the conclusion of this journey, he’d never see Elizabeth again? The possibility of not being with her for all eternity filled him with heart twisting sadness. 

No. No. It was best; it was meant to be this way. He couldn’t explain why Elizabeth had been drawn to him, but for the time they had left, he’d enjoy their moments together. He could gaze upon her, laugh and talk with her, revel in the way his shirt and socks looked so much better on her than they ever did on him. 

He dared to lift a palm and caress her cheek: so soft and flushed pink and beautiful. “Thank you….Lizzie.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything yet. What are you waiting for? We have to find that intel!” She took the hand from her cheek and pulled him forward. “Where is it, hmm?”

And then he allowed himself to laugh, to feel some degree of happiness at her determination. He squeezed her hand, as if memorizing her touch, so that he could carry her warmth into the afterlife.

“In the wine cellar.” He pulled her through the house. “The information we’re looking for is downstairs.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth had no idea of the existence of this room. They walked through the office, and with a touch of his palm in a particular section of wall, a secret doorway within the bookcase opened, and together, they walked through and descended to a cool room that housed several dozen bottles of wine.

“I didn’t even notice this was here.”

He turned to her and tilted his head to one side. “That’s the idea.”

She nodded in agreement, when he slid aside a large painting of a rather unattractive woman in period dress, to reveal a built in wall safe.

He stood before the safe, then turned to Elizabeth. Eyes opened wide, her excitement waned. “Oh no. You don’t remember the combination.”

He ran a palm over his closely shaved head and closed his eyes in silent thought. 

Elizabeth held her breath as her gaze focused on him, silently urging him to remember. 

A moment, then two, passed. He took a breath, turned from her.

And remembered.

He placed his fingers to the keypad and pressed five numbers and click! The safe door opened!

As Elizabeth looked on in excited anticipation, Red pushed his arm inside the safe and pulled out several items: items that were old and out of date: a slide projector, a box of slides, and a small item that looked like a flash drive, but not a flash drive.

He handed it all to Elizabeth and closed the safe as the clock upstairs began to strike five. Dawn.

“I have to go.” He announced as they prepared to return upstairs.

“Yes, I know.” Elizabeth answered sadly. “I wish you could stay; we could work on it now.”

He shook his head. “No. You need to go to bed. We’ll work on it tomorrow when I return.”

“Yes, I feel we’re getting closer, Red.” She managed a smile as they passed the wine racks. Watching as he lifted two bottles, he followed her up the stairs, and placed the pair on the desk in the office. “Please feel free to enjoy these. They are my finest.”

She placed the items from the safe on the table next to the open files and watched as he began to fade away. “Until tomorrow, Red.”

Excitement and sadness filled him at the same time. “Yes.” Was all he could manage.

They stood, toe to toe, their eyes filled with words unsaid. Her face lifted to his while his lowered to her, as his image shimmered. He missed her already. He didn’t want to go. This feeling he was experiencing: It was deep, and exciting…and warm.  
Love? Could it be?

“Yes.” She whispered, her gaze deep and intense. “I feel it too.” 

The clock began to strike the hour. 

One. Then two. 

He began to fade from view. Elizabeth dared to throw her arms around him then, while he choked back emotions he feared long gone and forgotten. 

Three strikes. 

His vision dimmed while in her arms, but not before he managed to return her embrace.

Four.

Shutting his eyes tight, then breathing her in like a summer breeze. 

Five.

A tear escaped her as he disappeared into the nothingness, a single word hanging on the air between them.

“Lizzie.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thanks to my brainstorming guru, Cress26, for her help and inspiration. You rock, my friend.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A breakthrough in Red's murder begins to emerge, while the appearance of Red's assassin is a cause for concern; As the weather changes, so does Red's appearance, and that brings he and Elizabeth together in a way they never thought possible.

Parked across the street outside the safe house, Reddington’s assassin, quite annoyed, grumpy and needing to pee, saw that the lights were on inside. That woman never left the property, ever.

A simple ambush and hit should have been easy enough. But ever since that night, nothing had gone right. Reddington was dead and that should have been enough to satisfy his superiors, but that hadn’t been the case. He was the only one who knew that his necklace, and subsequent DNA, was hidden inside that clock.

How the hell did he know that there would be an agent assigned to stay in Reddington’s place? What the hell was she doing there, day after day if Reddington’s body was gone? The blood found at the scene positively identified him, but if he didn’t retrieve that clock and get his chain back, he was as good as dead. Because at some point, someone was going to open that damn clock.

So, he’d wait a bit longer, see his chance, get in that house, and get that goddamned clock.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sliding her weapon in her back holster, Elizabeth grabbed the trash and brought it out to the curb. 

As she replaced the top back to the garbage bin, she looked up at the winter sky and took several deep, cleansing breaths. It was good to get out of the house after days of sitting at the table, working, studying, making notes and in general, trying to make sense of all that had happened since Reddington’s murder.

It was cold, but the temperature had noticeably changed for the better in the past few days. No wind, no snow, and a sky clear enough to see the bright full moon. The hint of tiny, blinking stars in the distance caused her to recall a childhood rhyme she and Sam would recite when they’d go camping: ‘star light, star bright, first star I see tonight; I wish I may, I wish I might, get the wish I wish tonight’.

It didn’t take her a moment to make that wish: Turn back time and prevent Reddington’s death.

Shaking her head at the folly of her thoughts, she took a few moments to lean against her car, just relaxing her mind, taking in all she’d learned in the space of a few days.

But foremost was the fact that she couldn’t wait to see Reddington again. They’d become close since last night’s encounter, and she was sure he was about to kiss her right before he disappeared into the ether.

Whatever he was: ghost, or dream, phantom or imagination, she cared about him, and tonight, she’d continue to assist him in solving this mystery.

As she turned to re-enter the house, she spied a car moving slowly down the block toward her. Reaching back to draw her weapon, and using her experience of observation as a profiler, she spied a single occupant of a silver Nissan, wearing a knit cap. As he passed her, she saw a tuft of hair sticking out from under the equally dark jacket. Astute and attentive to any detail, no matter how minor, she focused on the silhouette of the driver as he turned toward her, then sped past her. She focused and memorized the license plate. Aram could certainly trace it within a moment’s notice. Grabbing her cell, she called him.

A sleepy agent Mojtabai answered. “Mm, hello.”

“Aram, I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“It’s okay, Liz; what’s wrong?”

Bless his heart. He didn’t even yell at her for waking him up. “I saw a suspicious vehicle tonight cruising down past the house. Can you trace it for me?”

“Of course, Liz. Give me a minute.”

She gave him the information, apologized profusely, and he promised to get back to her asap.

In the meantime, she set up the slide projector from Reddington’s safe, and stared at the funny looking piece that appeared to be similar to a flash drive. Shaking her head in confusion, she had no idea where it should be placed or how it operated. She’d wait for Reddington and they’d figure it out….together. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scanning through redacted documents was not fun. Elizabeth did the best she could, skipping the annoying blacked-out lines of various pages that hinted at the secret organization that Reddington had named, ‘the cabal’ and feared she was nearing a dead end.

Her phone buzzed. Aram.

“Did you find anything?” She asked, hope rising in her chest.

“Sorry, Liz, but there is no match for that plate number. You sure you read it right in the dark?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure. Now I’m convinced this person is somehow involved in the murder. “Thanks anyway, Aram.”

“Be careful, Liz. I’ll keep digging. Talk to you tomorrow.”

She disconnected the call. Finding no record of the plates just convinced Liz further that the guy in the car was connected somehow, to Reddington’s demise. Why would someone be watching the house unless there was something that connected him to the murder? She had to find this person, and fast.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Deciding she needed a break from work, if just for a few moments, Elizabeth found herself in Reddington’s office and turned on the lamps. A glass of his superb wine in hand, she slowly perused the area: from the large draped window, the wall of bookshelves and luxurious Persian carpet. She settled at the small desk, and stared at the disjointed pieces of the jigsaw puzzle. 

“What is that?” With a frustrated sigh, she placed the half empty wine glass on the desk, sat, and proceeded to place some pieces together, while she waited for Reddington.

Within moments she inter-locked several pieces, while sipping Reddington’s incredible wine until the last drops were imbibed. 

She’d lost track of time, and managed to construct the corners, but not much more.

“Need some help with that?”

That voice. There he was, hands in pockets, leaning against the doorway at the entrance to the office. She lifted her eyes to meet his, intense gray orbs that locked with her own, and her stomach turned over. A wave of something warm and arousing filled her, along with her racing heart. The clock continued chiming the midnight hour, and suddenly she wanted to race to his arms and cry out her despair for his demise. Nothing she did could bring him back.

Or could it? 

“Elizabeth? Are you alright?”

Brought out of her dreamy musing, she lowered her eyes to his shirt. 

The now quarter-sized blood stain had faded to a faint pink hue.

No, she wasn’t alright. That wound was fading with each passing night. Did it mean he was moving closer to his destiny, whatever that might be? Or was it something else? What did it all mean? She swallowed, terrified to hope. She couldn’t lose him, not now, not after she’d been acquainted with him, not after they’d been working together. 

Change the subject, she told herself. and get a grip. She managed a feigned smile. “Yes, I’m fine.” She fibbed, glanced down at the puzzle then back at him, hoping he hadn’t seen her moment of weakness. 

“This is driving me crazy.” She joked. “How can I find the right pieces if I don’t know what it is?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” He teased, then straightened and walked toward her. Standing by her side, he proceeded to inter-lock several matching pieces with their mates. 

“That’s not fair.” She answered playfully, staring at his handsome visage as he snapped section after section with little effort. “After all I’m doing for you, you owe me.”

Another portion put in place, he smiled ruefully, then stepped back. “Yes, I do, Elizabeth.” He grew thoughtful, turned, then knelt at her side. “You’ll never know how much.”

She thought he was going to kiss her, but it never happened. They locked eyes, so close, she could feel his warmth. Warmth? How could that be?

“Reddington….I….”

He lightly placed his index finger to her lips. “Don’t.” Was all he said. Then he stood and held out his hand to her. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

She grabbed onto him, silently wishing, praying that he was real. That he was alive.

That he would take her hand and lead her to his bed.

Instead, she nodded and managed a weak smile. “Yes.” She lifted the empty glass with her free hand and handed it to him. “I’d like some more wine as well.” She steadied herself and tried to ignore the effect of his touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After setting up the ancient slide projector and facing it toward a nearby wall, Reddington connected that funny little drive. “It’s called a fulcrum. I feel this is the reason I was targeted.” He stated, as Liz looked on.

She sensed they were close to finding something, as excitement, couple with sadness, filled her heart. If this fulcrum proved fruitful, and in essence, exposed the killer, stimulating Red’s memory, then it would all truly be over, and he’d be gone.

Stop thinking of yourself; this is about Red. He deserves justice. He deserves to move on from this purgatory in which he’d been trapped.

Turning on the projector, Red began to explain certain dates and times and places, Liz was aware of his closeness, helpless to ignore her attraction to him.

“As you can see, Lizzie, this shows a global conspiracy, a powerful shadow organization that has a hold on every continent, affecting every aspect of life as we know it. They create war and chaos, then provide the resolution…”

As he spoke, she concentrated on his voice, and knew that his memory grew stronger with each word. He recited each photo and event as if he’d lived it. His voice was steady and sure. The manner with which he recited each line and syllable told her Raymond Reddington had lived a dangerous, perilous life, been involved in circumstances she’d never understand. And his death was the conclusion to this criminal existence. His intelligence and knowledge of happenings he’d experienced impressed her, and she only wished they had more time. 

He sighed and nodded. “This is why I was eliminated.” He turned to her. “We have to get this to the powers that be, Lizzie. It’s up to you.”

“Yes.” She assured him, as his hand moved across the distance between them. 

He managed a smile. “The truth will out.” He told her, as he continued to exhibit more slides, his hand tightening on hers as he did so. 

And then….

“Stop! Stop, there, right there!”

“What is it? What do you see?”

Elizabeth jumped up from the chair, pointed at a particular slide. “I think I saw this guy tonight. He drove past the house. I know he saw me when I threw out the trash.”

He froze, his body stiffened at her comment. “And you didn’t think to tell me this the moment I came in?”

His demeanor turned on a dime. A dangerous glint appeared in those deep gray eyes, demanding an answer. Elizabeth wasn’t rattled; well maybe a bit. She could tell he felt helpless yet loved his concern and protection even in his impossible situation. He must have been a force of nature during his criminal existence. A brilliant mastermind, indeed.

“I can take care of myself, Red.”

“Where is your weapon?”

“Where do you think? It’s on my person.” She told him, daring him to argue with her. “Look, we should be celebrating. I know this guy has a connection to your death. I can feel it! We need to find him. Maybe he’s your shooter!”

He stared at the photo, trying to put a name to the face. Yes, he was vaguely familiar, maybe a more recent recruit of Peter Kotsiopolis.

Why couldn’t he remember?

“Red?”

He turned to look in her eyes; those beautiful eyes that drew him closer. She was lovely, and warm and he needed to touch her. There existed an unmistakable connection between them. Instinct had him move toward her. He rounded the table. A look of hope and optimism filled his expression, as an unmistakable spark slowly blossomed between them. The air between them stilled. Time stopped. Nothing existed except the two of them. Only the ticking of the clock broke the silence.

Precious seconds passed, then... “Damn it, Red. Say something!”

And then, in the blink of an eye, within a lone heartbeat, their eyes met and locked; he grabbed her upper arms and pulled her close. Her body stirred as she surrendered willingly to his touch. In the ensuing moments, she lifted her arms to encircle his neck, raised her head, while he lowered his own as they fell headlong into a kiss that had them both reeling.

“Is this really happening?” She murmured against his mouth as his warmth seeped inside her. 

His shoulders raised as his palms cupped her face. “Yes…it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Together, working as a team, Red and Elizabeth finally solve the riddle; the clock reveals its secret, and with that revelation, emotions between them that can no longer be denied rise to the surface.

He circled her body with his arms, pulling her close to his chest. His warmth drew her in, and she tilted her head back to welcome his lips.

He claimed her, hungrily devouring her mouth with a low moan. She responded in kind, welcoming the heat of his mouth, inviting him in when his tongue bid entry.

Desire flooded her as his palms lowered further down her back to rest on her rear. He pushed her closer to the source of his need for her and deepened the kiss to let her know what he was experiencing in the glory of her arms.

She tasted like Heaven as bliss consumed him. Maybe he was in Heaven, because he’d never loved as he did at this moment. He loved her. And their situation was impossible, untenable. This cannot happen, he screamed inwardly. Stop. Stop now.

And then, hearing the clock chime the hour, he ended the kiss, confusing her. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Drawing his fingers through her wealth of hair, pushing it tenderly over her shoulders, he cradled her head, and completely ignored what had just occurred between them. “Lizzie, when word gets out about the Cabal, you will find yourself in grave danger.”

She knew what he was doing: he was pulling away from something they both wanted, both needed. She knew he loved her; it was as plain as the nose on his face. And she also knew, bless his heart, that he was trying to protect her from what was to come. 

He’d leave when all this was over and done. And she’d be left with nothing. No hope of any kind of a future between them. 

He was a criminal. She was the law.

And, for all intents and purposes, he was dead.

“Lizzie…..”

She blinked, then focused on him, and she managed a weak grin, as his face held a degree of helpless panic which Elizabeth found endearing. She grabbed his hand in comfort and managed a wan smile. “I know what you’re trying to do, Red but I have to tell you, even though you may not want to hear. This is my job; to find your murderer, and expose this organization. I can’t walk away. We’re so close. I wish you were more excited about this discovery.”

She watched as he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead to hers in a gentle fashion. “If anything were to happen to you….” His words caught in his throat.

She wanted to kiss him again; kiss him all night. Take him upstairs and share herself with him. “I’ll be careful, I promise, but we have to bring him to justice and expose the Cabal.”

They remained toe to toe, their bodies so close, warm and wanting. What if she just took his hand and led him up those stairs to his bedroom, urged him to be with her? She’d remove his clothes, touch him, taste him, and….

That’s when he took one step from her. “We have to get you out of here. If he knows you’re alone, you are vulnerable. I’ll not have you here acting as a decoy, waiting for something to happen when I’m so helpless to do anything to protect you.”

She sighed, feeling incomplete, yearning for his touch once more, but realizing his ‘mission’ for want of a better word, was to solve his own murder, then free himself to move on. If she’d harbored some schoolgirl wish of a romantic encounter, it turned out to be unfounded.

Sadness coupled with hopelessness enveloped her. “I promise, the moment this guy is identified, and we turn the fulcrum over to the authorities, I’ll go underground for a while, and stay under the radar.”

He began to pace. “Do you not understand what I just said, Lizzie?!” His voice raised an octave as his helplessness grew. “This is why I was targeted! The fulcrum places your life in grave peril. They can’t kill me again, but now that they have the knowledge that you are here, they will tear this house apart to find it, and you with it. Don’t you see? You’re an obstacle and must be dealt with.”

She stopped his pacing by clutching his arm and turning him to face her. “I’ll deal with the fallout. In the meantime, we need to get to work.” 

Gazing beyond him at the clock, she noticed the time. “Look, we only have a few hours each night.” She slid her hand down his arm in a comforting gesture. “We always start at twelve. It’s three a.m. now. Too bad we can’t turn back the clock and start at twelve again.”

She felt his arm stiffen. He turned, his eyes tense and fixed on her. “Say that again.”

She leaned her head to one side. “Say what again?”

“You know. The time. Start at twelve….three a.m.” He spoke in earnest now.

Elizabeth had no clue what he spoke of, but she humored him. “Okay. I said, we always start at twelve, when you appear. And it’s now three a.m. I wish we could turn back the clock. We need more time, Red.” She attempted to placate him. “Too bad we can’t move the hands of the clock back. Maybe we can fool time. Maybe manipulate the hands to go back, say to one a.m. This way we can have more time….”

“The clock.” He focused wide-eyed on the timepiece on the mantel without a blink. “The answer is in the clock.” It was as if he was hypnotized, frozen in place while his thoughts and memory rose to the surface.

“Red? How can the answer be in……?”

His eyes closed. She moved away from him, approached the mantel and the device that had never been removed by the authorities. 

As the steady tick-tock continued to break the silence, she gently placed her hands on either side of the casing. Running her hands down the timepiece, she felt nothing but the carved décor, smooth and polished. Turning it around she found nothing but the winding mechanism. Nothing else. Disappointment filled her.

“Lift it up and look at the bottom, Lizzie.” Red focused, unblinking, on her ministrations. “The underside, please.”

She followed his directions, her expectations beginning to rise. What if he was right and there was….

Lifting the clock, and carrying it to the table, Red grabbed the throw blanket from the chair to cushion it. Again, working together, she felt his closeness as he once again moved beside her, silently supporting her.

They spied a button on the underside of the clock. “What does this mean?” She looked over at him, while he ran trembling hands over the sides.

“Look here!” He exclaimed as his fingers found a crease in the side of the casing. “There’s a compartment there; some sort of hidden partition.”

“Even if there was, what does that have to do with what happened to you?” Their arms touched as they stood side by side, always aware of the other. Elizabeth silently prayed this revelation meant something, anything, any clue to help with his death.

He lay his hand on that place where he guessed held….something. “What if, the night of my birthday, I opened this? What if I was admiring its craftsmanship when I was killed? I’ve seen clocks in Europe like this: During war time, generals and the like hid secret messages within their clocks, to be found later. What if I was able, in some way, to open it?”

She covered his hand with her own and squeezed, her voice soft as she strove to deliver some degree of comfort. “Just because you were able to open it, doesn’t mean there’s a clue inside, but we need to find out.”

Red lifted her hand and kissed her fingers in answer. “Yes.”

She took a deep breath. “Now, all we have to do is figure out how to open it without damaging the clock.”

“We may not have a choice, Lizzie. If something is hidden in there, it’s important. I’m sure of it.”

She faced him, gazing with nothing less than complete confidence. “Okay, let’s go over the numbers we said before.”

He nodded slightly, then chose a spot beyond her and searched his mind for the answer.

“Start at twelve…..”

She stood the clock upright, carefully opened the glass dome that protected the face. “Do you want to do it?” She whispered, watching the expression of hope stamped on his handsome face.

“No, Lizzie. You do it.”

She reveled at his confidence and trust. Her heart turned over and in that moment, she knew she’d fallen in love with him. Placing her index finger on the second hand, she slowly, moved it to join the hour hand at the midnight position. The chimes began to strike twelve.

“Okay, what’s next?” She asked, searching his face.

Lost in concentration, within seconds his eyes widened with self-revelation. “Turn it to three, please.”

She nodded, pursed her lips and did as he requested. “Okay, done. Next?”

The chimes continued to strike the hour and stopped at three. “There’s more, I know there’s more. I can’t….”

Placing a palm on his cheek, she kissed him gently. “Yes. You can. I know you can. Take your time. Start at twelve, turn to three…..” She prompted.

They stood there for silent, contemplative moments as time ticked by. “I’ll place it back to three, until you remember more.”

As she moved the second hand back to three once more, Red’s head snapped up.

“Yes! Turn twice to three!”

Elizabeth’s eyes lit up with growing excitement. Her heart burst as his memory slowly returned. “Okay, start at twelve, turn twice to three….is there more?”

“There has to be; it hasn’t opened yet.”

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.” She met his gaze, and those once stormy eyes, softened to a gentle gray, revealing more than he intended, but she knew; Knew he cared. 

“Thank you, Lizzie.”

She grabbed his hand, brought it to her cheek, caressing it with comfort, relaxing him, as he continued to concentrate on the riddle.

Again, Red closed his eyes, squeezed her hand for comfort, for warmth and encouragement, but primarily, because he couldn’t bear to lose that connection with her.

He loved her. Despair swarmed him, because soon he’d have to leave her and move on. “It’s no use, Lizzie. I’m unable to decipher the rest.”

She wouldn’t accept that. “Think, Red.” She looked over at the clock, then back to him. “We still have time. It’s only half past the hour.”

“Half past….” He murmured as if calling back some forgotten memory. “Half past….what?”

She was determined to go forward. She moved the hands back to the midnight position. “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?”

He gave an imperceptible nod and silently encouraged her, watched her agile fingers as they placed the hands of the clock back to the midnight position.

“Start at twelve….turn twice to three…” She proceeded calmly, her eyes occasionally looking to him for encouragement, and he’d smile back at her, silently persuading her to continue, his eyes warm and comforting. 

Taking deep, even breaths, she moved the hour hand to one o’clock – nothing….

“Lizzie, this doesn’t seem to be working --"

The moment he said the words, she moved the hour hand to the half-hour position.

And then…..

Breaking the dead quiet, there came a tiny creak, a noise of wood scraping against wood.

And slowly, as the two of them watched in wide-eyed awe and anticipation, the side drawer of the clock slid open.

“Oh my God, we did it!” She turned to him, fell into him as his arms came tight around her, burying his head in the softness of her neck. Tears welled in his eyes as she kissed his face, nose and chin in the midst of exhilaration and victory.

“Yes.” He nodded, wanting to hold her until they were both dead, both free to move on, together.

Instead he leaned away from her and in a broken sob recited the riddle in full. “Start at twelve, turn twice to three; at half past one, ‘twill open be.”

Tears of happiness slid down her cheeks, and he paused to wipe them away with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, Lizzie. You’ve done it!”

“We did it… together.” She reminded him, as they looked inside the drawer.

And there it was. A bloody neck chain.

It was giant step forward. “Don’t touch it.” She softly told him, then ran into the kitchen, leaving him bereft without her.

She returned quickly, carrying a zip-lock bag and a pair of tongs. Watching her work, his heart filled with pride and love for her. She proceeded to carefully lift the necklace slide it inside the bag, then seal it. 

She returned to Red’s side, and again, hugged him tight. “We have proof now. Do you remember how that chain came to be in the clock?”

He nodded. “We were struggling, and I ripped it from him when he shot me, and somehow, I managed to toss it inside the drawer. As he attempted to retrieve it, the draw closed, and cars approached. I assume it was my team.” He met her eyes, so soft and blue, filled with unspoken emotions.

“We have to call Cooper so they can retrieve the DNA. And then we’ll have him!” She exclaimed, again embracing him, her excitement and adrenalin so high, she wanted to shout their accomplishment throughout the house.

But then, reality hit them both.

“You know what this will mean?” His smile fell, along with his feeling of accomplishment. “They will know. And your life will be forfeit.”

“Please don’t ruin this moment.” She whispered, bringing her mouth to cover his. She rejoiced at his response to her touch, as they engaged in a kiss that brought passion and desire to the surface. “Red….”

He wanted nothing more but to love her, but there was so little time. He was too worried about the consequences of their actions. 

“We have tonight to be together. Who knows what will happen tomorrow.” She whispered, ran her hands over his shoulders, under his shirt, feeling the warmth she yearned for.

He couldn’t deny her anymore. Arousal seethed inside him, and it was all for her. He couldn’t deny her, not even through death. Seeing the love in her eyes, he couldn’t leave her now if God himself came down and ordered him from her. He searched her face for any sign of hesitation and found none.

Taking her hand in his own, he kissed the soft flesh, making her tremble with anticipation, knowing that finally he’d belong to her.

“Yes. We have tonight.”

She placed a hand to his chest, hearing his heart beat, strong and fast, over the faint blood stain that was barely noticeable, and rejoiced. “I can feel your heart.”

Tears welled in his eyes. "Yes. For you; only for you."

And together they took the stairs, to his bedroom.

To share time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red's assassin is unaware that he's been identified, so he intends to break into the safe house, unaware that Elizabeth and Reddington have laid a trap to apprehend him.

The tension between them only intensified, turning a simmering ember to a flame as they reached his bedroom.

Light from a full moon shone through the floor to ceiling windows as they stepped through the threshold and faced each other. Hands still entwined, warmth shared and cherished, no words passed between them.

Slowly, deliberately, their eyes said things words could not, and she raised her hands to unbutton his shirt. Feeling his muscled, tight flesh beneath her fingers, she struggled to construct a single thought, other than being with him in every way physically possible.

He was flesh and blood – and warmth. No matter whatever else he was, or appeared to be, right now, at this moment, he was human – alive, and breathing.

He stared at her, watched as she undid the buttons, then spread the fabric in order to look upon him.

A tiny red mark marred the center of his chest, and she lowered her head while sliding her hands to the sides of his chest. Tenderly, with tears welling in her eyes, she pressed her mouth to that deadly mark.

A lone tear shed for him against the faint sound of his beating heart, the rise and fall of his chest. She wanted him, all of him, and she would give him all she possessed, everything she was.

Placing a palm over that hint of a wound, she rose up to meet his eyes. “I want to destroy whoever did this to you, and I will…. I promise you.”

His eyes widened, darkened with her proclamation. His nostrils flared, his legs moved farther apart, his arousal evident.

In answer, Elizabeth drew the shirt from him and threw it to the floor. He, in turn, lifted her shirt, pulled it from her head and it too, wound up on the floor.

His eyes so intent upon her as she undressed, she shivered with sensation. Her nipples throbbed as his gaze trailed down her body, her desire rising like a tide. Finally naked Red moved closer and lowered his mouth to her own. She welcomed him with a low moan as he lifted and lowered her to the bed, then settled himself above her.

Her dark hair fanned over his pillow as he felt her legs spread wide like the wings of a gentle dove, drawing him, seducing him deep inside her. They fit together like a hand in glove; it was their time now.

“You’re beautiful, Lizzie.” He murmured in her ear, then trailed a path of kisses down her face and nose, cheeks and then, pressed his mouth to her lips in a kiss that rocked them to the stars and back.

Their hands performed a symphony of movements. Hands sampling, touching, loving. Elizabeth grabbed his hands, placed them on her breasts. “Touch me, Red. Don’t be afraid. We’re here, we’re together and that’s all that matters.”

A slight nod, and he understood. The moonlight sent a slash of brightness through the room, and the clock downstairs tick-ticked way into the night.

She clutched his head, bringing it down to her breasts, and he kissed his way down to those swollen globes. His tongue tortured and teased her feather-soft flesh, begging to be suckled, then gently bit, while Elizabeth writhed with arousal, wanting more, yet more wasn’t enough.

She could feel his thick length tease her opening, so she lifted her hips in answer, welcoming him inside her slippery heat. Her hands slid around his shoulders, down his back as she whispered in his ear. “Closer; come closer.”

Red needed no more encouragement to push himself inside her, stretching and reveling in her heat. “Open your eyes, Elizabeth.” He gently commanded. “See what you are doing to me.”

He grabbed her hips and lifted them to gain deeper purchase, burying himself inside her, pushing, pulling, as they created their own rhythm. Wrapping her legs around his hips, her body rose in order to sense every inch of him. His erection hardened, thickened with her every move, and he found himself spellbound by all she was: Her eyes, deep blue like a bottomless ocean, her lips, full and inviting, her body, warm and ready for him. Feeling her palms on his cheeks, she kissed him, her tongue circling his own, tasting and licking, until they teased the flames. Their movements quickened and intensified, as no more words were uttered.

He turned her over, and she rose above him, then buried herself to the hilt. Her legs widened to allow him deeper access, and she lowered her head so that he could feast on her swollen breasts. Red’s mouth suckled and licked the hard nubs, aroused to a deep pink. He heard her soft cry as she climaxed, a sound he’d never forget. Her musky scent filled the room as his body stiffened. Again, he turned her to her back, lifted her leg and dove as deep as his body would allow. “Let go, Lizzie. Let yourself fall. I’m here. I’m here.”

As the flames within them rose higher and higher, he lowered his head to crush her lips, reveling in her response to him. As a shooting star shot across the sky outside, neither of them noticed. Her body stilled, squeezing his hard shaft while his hips pistoned, in and out, driving himself to the limit. They held each other, crying out each other’s names in blissful ecstasy. 

And together, they burned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She awakened to an empty, cold bed.

After the warmth they’d shared the night before, Elizabeth couldn’t bear to stay in that huge bed without him. The clock downstairs informed her that it was nearly eight a.m. She held back tears, sliding her hand against the cool pillow where he’d laid his head, closed her eyes and brought back the memory of their night together. Her body stilled ached from his touch, grateful for the fact that he’d been real and breathing, at least for one night. Their loving had been slow and deliberate, each giving and taking, sharing time, sharing their bodies until bliss filled them with nothing but love.

Whatever Fate chose in the aftermath after his killer was caught and apprehended, she would accept. Her heart would forever belong to him, no matter the consequences. “I wish we could have met in another life.” She whispered, gazing out the window to another sunny February day. “I think, no….I know, we would have made a great team.” She smiled.

Leaving the comfort of the warm bed she’d shared with Red, she took a quick shower. She needed to get to the post office and deliver that chain to Cooper and Panabaker. 

Within the hour, she was entering the black site, and hurried to Cooper’s office, her hands shaking with anticipation. 

“Elizabeth, tell me you’ve found something?”

Excitement filling her, she nodded. Holding up the plastic bag containing the proof that would surely identify Red’s assassin, she smiled with deep satisfaction. “I have. She handed him the necklace, then went on to report all that happened, starting with the appearance of that silver Nissan, to discovering the chain. “Good work, Elizabeth.” Cooper applauded her, and not long after, the evidence was handed over to Pannabaker, along with the fulcrum and slides with a reassurance that the results would be reported back to them asap.

In the meantime, Elizabeth couldn’t bear to be far from the place where she'd met and fallen in love with Raymond Reddington. He'd consumed her heart, her soul, and all she wanted was to return to Bethesda and wait for him. The realization that their time together was drawing to a close saddened her, and she choked back tears as Ressler and Aram joined her.

Cooper stood behind his desk, looked down at her. “Elizabeth, when this breaks, they'll come after you, but we'll protect you, I give you my word. The DOJ has already taken Peter Kotsiopolis in for questioning. We’re not expecting him to talk, but we are holding one of his associates, a career thug, by the name of Elias Solomon.” He slid a folder over to his three agents. “A hired killer, specializes in torture.”

Elizabeth looked at the photo, shook her head. “This isn’t the man who killed Reddington.”

Cooper’s brows raised. “You’re right, it’s not. We’ve been questioning him for a time now; he's a stone. So, we’ll just have to wait for the DNA to come back.”

“What do we do in the meantime, Sir?” Ressler looked to Cooper for guidance.

“We wait.” Cooper replied, as Elizabeth and the rest of the team inspected the folder.

Again, she saw a shadow that looked like the man she saw in the car, and squinted to make out an impression. 

“Elizabeth, what do you see?”

She shook her head, ran a hand through an errant strand of hair that fell from her ponytail. “I’m sure this is the guy, but we can’t identify a man if we don’t have a clear photo of him. It’s very frustrating.”

“It is. There isn’t any thing more you can do in that house, Elizabeth. Why don’t you go back, pack up and go home. I’ll send you a photo and I.D. of the killer when he’s identified. Then we’ll arrange to have you protected; no matter what lengths we must go to keep you safe, we’ll do it.”

Deep in her heart, Elizabeth knew she’d never be safe once the Cabal was exposed. The moment Red's murderer was identified, for all intents and purposes, she was dead.

Nodding in agreement, she bid her team goodbye, grabbed her bag, and headed back to Bethesda.

To wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He waited.

Reddington’s assassin parked three houses down on that quiet street, in the quiet neighborhood. Tonight was the night, do or die. He would get that clock, get rid of that pesky agent, and then disappear like a ghost. 

He’d wait until after midnight and make his move. If the FBI found his chain before he did, his life was worthless. And he had no intention of letting that happen.

“What the hell is she doing in there?” He asked himself for the tenth time, sipping from a Styrofoam cup filled with steaming coffee, then glanced at his watch. On the stroke of twelve, he'd make his move. 

Placing the cup on the dashboard of the car, he reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out his gun. Checking to make sure the clip was full, he pushed it back in place, adjusted his knit cap, and stared at his watch…waiting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Reddington waited.

He spotted the silver Nissan parked not far from his house. Rage rose inside him at the thought that his assassin was so close to Elizabeth. Too close. He couldn’t get in the house until midnight to warn her, and the thought enraged him. He peered through the glass panel, unable to see her. It was late, and he hoped she hadn’t fallen asleep upstairs. If the killer broke into the house now, she wouldn’t hear him, and that spelled disaster.

“Where are you Lizzie?” He whispered, wishing she'd come downstairs. The rooms were cloaked in darkness, and he could hear the ticking of the clock as he waited with nervous anticipation for the midnight chimes to signify the hour.

It had been a foregone conclusion that danger was bound to follow Elizabeth when the FBI had the evidence in their possession. It was all his fault, and he hated himself for putting her in this position. 

Placing his palm to the center of his chest, he lowered his head and saw the once bloody stain had faded to a circle of the palest pink, barely noticeable. He knew without a doubt, that once that mark faded into nothing, so would he.

Reddington grew sad, knowing that this would probably be their last night together. Why was this happening? Had he been brought back to this house just to fall in love with her, only to fade away when justice had been served? What was the point? No, there was no answer. They’d come together because fate had chosen them; he didn't have to like it, but he had no control over what was to be. “I’ll love you always, Elizabeth.” He murmured, as the first chime signaled the midnight hour.

He nearly collided with her when he opened the glass door to gain entry to the house.

“Red!”

And there she was: dressed all in black, leggings and black turtleneck sweater, knee high leather boots, dark hair loose and falling over her shoulders. For a split second he just stood there, taking in those dark blue eyes and lovely creamy skin, his body aching for her, yearning to touch and love her. But there was no time.

“Lizzie!”

She stopped in her tracks as he gripped her arms, his touch demanding her attention. “What is it, Red?”

His eyes widened with expression. “He’s in a car, down the block. He’s coming tonight. Now. You have to get out of here.”

To his utter surprise, she shook her head. “No.”

“This is crazy, Lizzie. Get in your car and go. Call Cooper, tell them to come in quiet, trap him. I don’t want you to -–”

“Want me to what? Apprehend the man who killed you?! A man who is part of this ‘shadow’ organization as you call it? Red, what kind of agent would I be if I ran?”

He felt her lean into him, her check against his, a touch he’d cherish forever. “Whatever you’re planning, do it quick.” He instantly regretted his words, and at the same time, trusted her implicitly. 

Red missed her touch the instant she stepped from him. “I’m going to drive around the block, park the car, then walk back, sneak inside the house. Hopefully, I can trap him.”

“Call Cooper.” He repeated. “I can’t help you, Lizzie. You need back-up. There could be more of them out there.” He stated, lifted a palm to caress her cheek. “Please call them.”

She saw how helpless he felt, and her heart ached for him. “Okay, I promise. As soon as I get in the car, I’ll call them.”

He nodded; one brow raised. “Your courage humbles me.” And then, they came together for a kiss, intense and red-hot, their mouths in perfect synch, saying things words could not express.

She turned from him, grabbed her gun, coat, keys and left him behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He watched as she drove away, down the block until her vehicle disappeared and rounded a corner. Now was his chance. It would be easier than he thought.

Looking around, then opening his car door, he adjusted his weapon that sat, locked and loaded in his pocket, and proceeded, slowly to the house. He’d break in quietly, grab the clock, and leave the way he came: Unnoticed.

Red stood in the shadows of the room, watching, waiting for two people: the man who murdered him – and the woman who loved him. He didn’t care about the clock; it was empty and wouldn’t help his killer now. The FBI had his necklace and soon, would have him in custody.

“Take great care, Lizzie.” He silently prayed for her safety. It ended here. Tonight. Now. 

And there wasn’t a thing he could do to protect her, except, wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keeping her promise, Elizabeth parked her car around the corner, then called Cooper.

“Elizabeth, talk to me.”

“Sir, I need back-up at the safe house. Our killer is parked outside, and I think he’s coming for the clock tonight. He saw me leave the house, I’m sure. I’m going to lure him, apprehend him. By the time you get here, I’ll have him cuffed.”

“Be careful.” Cooper ordered. “We just received his DNA and a picture. He’s a henchman of Peter Kotsiopolis, and a sometime partner of this Solomon punk. Master of disguise, I’m told. We found multiple passports and huge amounts of cash in his apartment. I’m sending you a photo of him now. His name is –"

Her cell lost the connection. “Doesn’t matter what his name is.” She told herself, running double-time back to the house. 

Silently letting herself in the back door, she silenced her cell, just as the photo of the killer was sent by Cooper. 

Yep, that’s him, the guy in the car, she thought. Young, dark hair, average looking, a person would never take him for a cold-blooded murderer. But she did.

And he’d pay dearly for killing Red.

Cooper added his name and aliases, along with his photo from Intelligence.

“Hmm. You won’t be so tough when I get through with you.”

Placing the cell in her back pocket, she stepped into the house, silently weaving around each piece of furniture like a cat burglar who'd memorized each chair and obstacle.

And waited.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The man crept inside the house. How lucky to have the glass door already unlocked, as if inviting him in. This is going to be easier than I thought, he mused, taking short, cautious steps inside the dark room, the light from the streetlamps outside illuminating his way.

Feeling his way around the room, he approached the mantel, and lifted the clock from its place as a strange sensation crept up his back. 

He heard a faint click as the room was flooded in light. 

“Put it down….now.”

Surprised to know he was not alone, the man turned, and faced Elizabeth.

She trained her weapon on his heart. “Put it down, turn around and get on your knees.”

Tom Keen or Christopher Phelps, or whatever his name was, smiled in abject opposition. “You have no idea what you’re messing with.” He raised his eyebrows and nodded in cocky rebellion. “You got nothing, and I’ll be out in an hour. Then, you’re dead.”

From the corner of her eye, Red appeared from the shadows, his face contorted into a mask of rage and hate.

Elizabeth was not impressed, nor did she show fear. She had one goal in mind. “We have your chain, Keen.” She announced proudly as he refused to obey her order and just stood six feet from her, openly daring her to do something – anything.

She wasn’t impressed. “You have nowhere to go, and you know it.” She angled her gun at him. “Put it down, now. I’m not going to say it again.”

He placed the clock on the table, still refusing to obey her order to kneel and place his hands above his head.

Red stood stoic, still as stone, not wanting to distract her.

Loving her, so proud of her courage, her bravery.

And then, within the blink of an eye, Keen reached for his weapon.

Red saw it happening all over again. The way he was ambushed by Keen the night he was assassinated. The gun, aimed at his heart, then the blood, and the clock.

His life ebbing away.

“Lizzie!”

She’d heard him, and her aim was true. The bullet found its mark, quick and deadly.

Keen’s hand instinctively went to his chest, where a mortal wound was spreading in a ghoulish spatter of scarlet.

He fell to the floor, his life draining from him, while Elizabeth watched him with no remorse. She turned to Red.

And gasped as her eyes trailed down his shirt. The material was pure white, pristine. 

Any evidence of blood was nowhere to be found, as if it never existed.

What was happening? Could it be?

“Red?”

Ignoring the body of Keen, she unbuttoned Red’s shirt, opened it wide, and to her utter shock, saw no sign of injury, no scar or wound, not a single mark that signified he’d been shot.

Outside that glass door, they both gazed upon what appeared to be a cluster of falling stars shoot past the sky on this clear February night.

TBC

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, this little tale of fantasy, love and redemption is coming to an end ~~ I hope you enjoyed Justice at Midnight, and thanks for reading!!!

It began to snow.

Thick, fat flakes began their descent to earth in earnest as Red and Elizabeth heard a multitude of cars approach the house.

Looking up at him, she stood on tiptoe to place a warm, soft kiss on his mouth. “I know they can’t see you, but I’d feel better if you remained concealed until they left.”

He searched her eyes, saw the love there, and nodded. “I’ll be in the bedroom. Meet me there after they leave.” He kissed her again, suddenly wanting to kiss her until they were both dead. “I’m very proud of you. Such courage. One of the things I love about you.”

He wiped away the lone tear that slid slowly down her cheek, then, without another word, he left her standing there, just as Cooper and a band of agents stood on the other end of the glass doors, awaiting entry.

She straightened and composed herself, and opened the door for the array of law enforcement officers and such, inside the house.

Approaching her first while looking down at Keen’s body, Cooper touched her shoulder. “Are you alright, Elizabeth? Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. “Not at all, Sir. He drew his weapon; I shot first in self-defense.”

Ressler and Aram followed, making certain of her safety, watching as organized chaos ensued: The medical examiner declared Keen deceased, both guns were seized, the body removed, all while Elizabeth kept her distance, and watched them do their job.

“It won’t be long before they discover what you’ve done to one of their operatives, Elizabeth.” Cooper stood beside her, as they both witnessed the investigation continue. “There are cars outside, waiting to take you to a safe house. From there, we’ll figure out how to get you out of the country.”

It all sounded so final. But she knew all that; her life was worthless now. Red would be gone soon, and she’d be planted in another country, another world, never to be found again. She became sick to her stomach, wanted to scream and rant, but she showed no sign of distress. This was her job, and she’d done it well. With the help of Red, she’d exposed a world threatening organization, and killed the man who’d killed Reddington.

But she wasn’t going anywhere tonight, except here with Red, until he said his final goodbye. “Sir, I need some time to pack. I want to go back to my apartment, retrieve some of my things.”

Cooper hesitated, watching the snow as it fell heavier. It seemed the wind picked up in velocity as well. “There’s a storm on the way, Elizabeth. Weather reports saying a crippling blizzard on the way across the east coast, arriving in the D.C. area by dawn. I need to get you out of here.”

Think, quick, she told herself. She had to see Red, one more time, then she’d go anywhere with Cooper’s people. Tell him something, anything.

“I’ll be fine, really. Why don’t I just report to the post office and stay there for a bit? What’s safer than to be surrounded by a bunch of FBI agents?

She saw Cooper giving in. “Alright, but get your stuff packed and get over to the office asap, understand?”

She nodded, silently enjoying her tiny victory.

Now, she needed them to all leave. It was already after four a.m. and she only had an hour with Red. She had to be with him when he departed for good. Had to tell him that she loved him, would always love him.

Finally, the body was transported to a black van, while the techs and agents began to file out of the house. Cooper was the last to leave.

“Remember, Elizabeth, I don’t want you driving in a blizzard. Just grab whatever you need and get out of here. I’ll meet you there.”

“Yes, sir, right away.”

“I still don’t feel right leaving you here. Do you have your weapon?”

She shook her head. “No, the forensic team took it.” She told him.

In answer, he reached in his back holster and pulled out his own weapon, a big, heavy cannon. “It’s locked with a full clip. I hope you won’t need it. But keep it with you until you’re safely with us.”

Reluctantly, he walked to the front door, with her by his side. She stood at the open door, watching the intensity of the snowfall, feeling the wind pick up. She locked the door, made sure the other doors in the house were secure, then carried Cooper’s weapon up the stairs, taken the steps two at a time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was waiting for her, standing by the wide glass doors in his bedroom. “Are they all gone?” He asked, still peering out at the snow.

She threw the gun on the bed and ran to him. “Yes.” She felt herself gathered within his embrace as the clock downstairs struck four.

“An hour until dawn.” She placed her hand over his heart, beating fast, strong; the sound soothed her. “Just hold me.”

His arms tightened around her as they stood at the window, watching the wind-driven snow strengthen in intensity and volume. 

And through the chaotic descent of the blinding snow, they both watched in wonder as a brightness circle of light broke through the clouds, followed by a group of shooting stars, creating a bright beam of light as they shot across the sky.

“It’s as though those stars have somehow guided us to where we are now.” He whispered; his emotion filled voice told a story. “Just as Polaris, the north star, used to guide sailors home, so you are my guiding light, Lizzie.”

Tenderly, he turned her face to his own, stared into the depths of those sapphire orbs. “When I look at you, I know I’m home. No matter where I go, know that you are loved, that you, are my home.”

“Red.” She began to sob, burying her head against his chest, hearing that beloved heart beat stronger and faster, his breaths growing steady. His warmth soothed her; his low whispers calmed her. His profession of love brought a degree of bliss to her heart.

“I have so much to say, and don’t know where to start.”

She allowed the tears to fall. “I know.” 

His head leaned down as she lifted her head to receive his kiss. Their mouths moved in perfect synch as love, strong and timeless, filled them both.

“I love you.” He said simply, as they turned and once again, peered out at the storm, their love sealed for all time. And there they stood, at the window, watching the snow, listening to the whistling of the wind, locked in a tight embrace as the moments ticked by.

Waiting for the dawn.

The first chime began as the snow intensified, turning the landscape into a wall of white.

She grabbed his shirt in a desperate attempt to keep him with her.

Two chimes.

Her eyes closed tighter, willing her heart to keep from breaking.

Three chimes.

He placed his head upon hers; no words spoken, hanging on to one another for those last few seconds.

Four chimes.

They looked to each other. “Kiss me.” She urged between sobs.

Five chimes.

She saw his tears fall upon his white shirt as his lips gently touched hers.

And then…..silence.

She opened her eyes, nearly blinded by her tears.

“Lizzie……”

The breath literally knocked from her lungs, she stared at him.

She brought her hands to his face. “Can this be true? You’re still here.”

Their tears continued to fall as he lifted her in his arms and off the floor, in a dance of victory. “It seems – I’ve – been given a second chance, sweetheart.”

She laughed through the tears, her heart rejoicing, pulse racing as he swung her around in a circle. “Yes, you have! She cried out, kissing him as he hugged her so tightly, she thought she’d lose her breath. But she didn’t care. 

For long seconds they kissed and embraced, cried and laughed.

But then, reality set in.

Taking her hand, kissing her palm, he steadied them both. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

She nodded, understanding his concern. “But where can we go? We need help, but who----?”

He needed to think quick. “Let me have your cell.”

“But Red, who?”

“I have a plan; a weak one, but one all the same. Pack whatever we will need, sweetheart. We are leaving here, tonight, and never coming back.”

She never questioned him. Taking her cell from her back pocket, she handed it to him, then stood close, afraid to let him out of her sight, lest he disappear again.

She saw him dial, *77, then place the phone on speaker.

One ring, and a male voice answered. “Who is this?”

Red swallowed hard, more tears caught in his throat. “Dembe…..”

A long pause, so long in fact, Red thought his friend had disconnected the call. He wouldn’t blame him. After all, he was dead.

“Raymond…..how…..where are you, and how did you…?”

Elizabeth grabbed his free hand and kissed it, then gripped it tight as Red began to explain details to the man called Dembe.

“I can’t explain it; I don’t know what to say, except that I was saved; I’m here, at the house in Bethesda; I have much to tell you, but for now, I need to leave the country.” He looked at Elizabeth, and his voice softened. “I’m with an amazing woman who helped me. Her name….is Elizabeth. Because she saved me, killed my assassin and exposed a shadow organization, her life is in grave peril.”

The man called Dembe spoke slow and precise, as if choking back emotion. “We are on our way. Be ready to move, Raymond. The blizzard will most certainly impede our journey, but we’ll manage, don’t worry.”

The call was disconnected and Red found that Elizabeth was already rushing around the room, getting clothes together for them both.

He turned to his wardrobe, and pulled out two large leather bags, enough to sustain them until they could get to another safe house, preferably out of the country.

There was a hidden safe in a walk-in closet, where Red opened it and emptied it of cash then tucked it in one of the bags. Time was of the essence, and only by the grace of God and this blinding storm to distract and maybe waylay the enemy, that they’d be able to get a head start.

Within moments, they were packed and ready to go. She took a second to look around her, then at him. “I’m sorry you have to leave this all behind.”

He stepped up to her, placed a hand on her cheek. “They are just things, Lizzie. They can be replaced. You, on the other hand, are irreplaceable.”

She nodded in understanding, as her cell buzzed. It was Cooper.

“Sir, I’m still here, but leaving in a few moments.”

Cooper interrupted her. “There’s a huge pile-up on the expressway back to the office, Elizabeth.” He declared. “We are stuck in traffic, so stay put for a while at least. This storm has crippled the area; its all come to a stand-still.”

“Then I’ll stay here until the storm subsides a bit. I’ll be in touch, Sir.”

The call disconnected. She looked to Red. “Can your people get to us? The storm will –”

The sound of a car engine crunching through the snow-covered street was her answer.

“We need to go.” He announced, grabbing a winter coat from his wardrobe, then lifting the bags. Together they made their way downstairs.

A huge black Mercedes van slid haphazardly into the driveway, and three armed men jumped out and approached the house, where Red opened the door and greeted them.

Dembe was the first to embrace his friend. “When we have time, you must tell me everything.” He told Red as tears filled his eyes.

Introductions were made all around, as Red helped her into her winter jacket, his team carried the bags out to the car.

“It’s time, Lizzie.”

She looked at him and hesitated. “What’s wrong?”

“The clock, Red; Can we take the clock?”

He kissed her quickly, then nodded. “Yes, of course.”

The man with the gray ponytail ran into the living room and lifted the clock from the mantel while Elizabeth shut out all the lights and grabbed her backpack.

They hurriedly climbed inside the van, slid the doors closed; there wasn’t a moment to waste. They’d just turned the corner when another van, containing no less than four assassins, pulled up to the house, jumped out, weapons at the ready, and crashed their way inside.

They found nothing but a dark, empty house, with not a clue left behind to tell them where the occupants had gone.

As they struggled to navigate through the storm in order to follow Red and Liz, they lost their way in the blinding storm, and were never heard from again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Settling in the back seat, Red and Elizabeth huddled together, holding hands, with no intention of letting go. As Red’s team sat up front and navigated their way in the blinding tempest, the couple said little, their closeness enough for now.

As Dembe directed the van towards the private hangar Red owned, Elizabeth voiced her concern. “How will we ever fly in this storm?”

“Not to worry, Lizzie. We’ll figure it out. But for now, I’m relieved to know that we are together, and that you’re safe.” He placed a palm on her face, brought her head closer to his own. “Whatever happened, we may never be able to solve this particular mystery. Perhaps the universe decided I deserved a bit of redemption.”

Elizabeth whispered between kisses. “Let’s not try to analyze what happened, and just be grateful we were given this chance.” 

Red couldn’t get enough of her warmth, her beauty; her kisses aroused and excited him; he couldn’t wait until they were safe, so he could make love to her day and night. He’d never get enough of this amazing woman: hard and soft, tenacious and determined; stronger than she realized.

“You have to admit this is all truly remarkable. Things like this just don’t happen.”

She allowed herself a tiny chuckle. “Let’s not question it. In the end, it was all about love wasn’t it?” She reasoned. “I read somewhere once that ‘love is stronger than death’. And it’s the truth, isn’t, Red? It’s all about what the power of love can do.”

He couldn’t agree with her more. “Yes, sweetheart. It won’t be easy, but I promise I’ll keep you safe forever. Spend your life with me?”

Her answer was sincere and filled with emotion. “Yes.”

As they arrived at the private airfield where Red’s plane was fueled and ready, the snow eased, the wind lost its velocity, and miraculously, within a mere hour, they were given the okay to fly.

Settled in the luxury of his Gulf Stream, they cuddled together, savoring each other’s touch, silently thankful that they would have the life they imagined: together.

“So, where are we going? Tell me.” She urged playfully, as bliss filled her heart with so much love, she thought she’d burst.

He nuzzled her neck, taking in her scent, her softness and her warmth. “Somewhere warm, that I promise you.”

He was teasing her, and she relished every moment. How she loved him. “Mmm, will there be a beach where we can make love under the stars? Our stars?”

He lifted his head and feigned amazement. “Lizzie, you’ve managed to read my mind.” He drew tiny giggles from her, enjoying the sound, then joining her in quiet laughter. Pushing an errant strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear, their eyes locked. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

That’s all she needed to hear. Settling herself in the nest of his embrace, she closed her eyes, rested her head on his shoulder, cherishing the strength and warmth of his body. They’d done it. They’d beaten the odds.

Hours later, with the snow gone, skies clear and blue, they landed in a place of warmth and sunshine, as Red vowed that they’d never endure the cold again. 

Because of Elizabeth and that clock, she’d found justice for him. 

Their life had just begun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TWO DAYS LATER  
RED'S SAFE HOUSE IN BETHESDA

Harold Cooper, Aram Mojtabai and Donald Ressler stood in Reddington’s bedroom, surrounding the bed and what lay upon it.

Staring at the sole proof that Elizabeth had indeed, been here, and somehow, disappeared during the storm, Cooper turned to his colleagues.

“What does it all mean, Sir?”

Cooper glared at Aram, then at Ressler, and shook his head, confusion marring his features. “I honestly don’t have an answer for you.”

He again pivoted toward the center of the bed, and picked up his gun, the weapon he’d given Elizabeth for protection. “There’s no sign of struggle; her car is still here. The only evidence we have, is no evidence at all that she’s been taken, or worse, killed.”

“What about that?” Ressler inclined his head toward the other object on the bed: a black fedora.

Cooper, again, exhaled a heavy sigh, disbelief swarming in his brain. “It can’t be; he’s dead.” Secretly, however, Cooper mused that nothing was impossible when it came to Raymond Reddington; he’d cheated death in the past, maybe this was no different.

“So, what do we do, now, Sir?” Ressler inquired, while silently mourning the loss of his work colleague.

Cooper turned to his trusted agents. “The only thing we can: investigate this shadow organization further, and somehow, use all our resources to dissolve the criminal element. Elizabeth, sadly, is gone. But I’d like to think that maybe, just maybe, she’s somewhere safe, where no one can harm her. And perhaps…” He dared to look upon that fedora, and a shred of hope filled him with the hope that Elizabeth left that hat as a clue that she was safe. “Perhaps she’s found happiness, no matter where she is.”

The agents nodded in agreement, and the three of them left the safe house. A special crew would come by later in the day with orders to clean it out, lock it up, and be done with it.

Settling in the black town car, the men made their way back to the post office to continue their work, each of them harboring fond thoughts of their friend and colleague, Elizabeth Scott.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EPILOGUE  
An island in the Maldives  
16 months later

Midnight. A private beach. Full moon. Stars flooded the clear July night. 

The couple came together in a symphony of bodies that moved perfectly in synch. 

Red kissed her again, moving over her as she opened to him, her nakedness driving him on. The sounds of the ocean crashing against the shore drowned out their words of love as they came together.

Legs entwined, bodies joined as one, Elizabeth rose up from the blanket to seduce him deeper inside her heat. His strong hands lifted her hips up to dive deeper, as powerful waves of love floated through them.

Her kisses drove him wild, pulling him beneath the undertow of her kisses. Her tongue circled his own, and they came together, teasing and tasting. 

Waves of arousal lifted them higher, their cries of climax dissolving with the crashing waves that rushed against the shore. 

Together, they rose above the surf, then dove, and drowned in each other.

Moments later, their breathing slowed to normal once again, wrapped in each other’s arms, they stared up at the sky, enjoying the warm summer breeze that tickled their nakedness.

“Tell me the story again.” She urged, closing her eyes, savoring the sound of his voice, velvet over steel, soft, yet strong.

“There’s Polaris.” He began, his tone low and filled with emotion as he pointed out the North Star. “You know that years and years ago, Polaris became too bright for telescopes and the like; unexplainable, blinding. Myths and legends abound about this occurrence and like shooting stars, the north star is said to possess a bit of magic.”

“Go on.”

“In some cultures,” he continued, “Falling stars, for instance, represent souls released from purgatory, allowing them to redeem themselves and return to earth.” His eyes met hers and softened as she smiled back at him. “To return to peace and redemption.”

He leaned over to kiss her, her slightly swollen lips responding to him as he moved on his side to relish her warmth. “What you did for me…for us –”

She placed a finger over his lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I know, Red….I know.”

“Let’s go inside. She’ll be up soon. It’s late and we need to let Kate go home.”

They threw on their robes and walked, hand in hand, the short distance from the private beach of their island home. Upon entering, they heard the cooing, gurgling sounds of their infant daughter. The treasured clock struck one a.m. on the mantle in the hall as they stepped through their huge island home in Paradise. Their isolated refuge miles away from civilization was completely self-sustaining. The area was a town within itself, and several dozen worked under Red’s employ to supply all they needed to live and enjoy a life together. 

“I’ll get her.” Red placed a quick kiss on her cheek. 

They bid their friend, Kate, goodnight and the older woman exited the house, as Elizabeth watched from the doorway to the nursery. Her husband cooed and soothed their two-month-old, Agnes, gently lifting her from the white and gold hand-carved crib, placing gentle kisses on her nose and cheeks, whispering words of love and comfort.

He carried her to the large rocking chair near the window, and lay her on his chest, over his heart, where their beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed infant instantly quieted.

How blessed are we? She thought tears filling her eyes. Whether it was time, a force of the cosmos, magic, or the stars that brought them to this place, she didn’t question the why or how. She simply accepted what was. 

Watching the two people she loved most in the world, she silently thanked the universe for whatever forces brought them here. 

Transcending time and space, for whatever reasons, their love had, indeed, been written in the stars.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry to see this Lizzington tale of love and second chances, coming to an end.
> 
> Thanks as always, to my beta, dear friend, and inspiration throughout this, and all my stories, cress26 ~
> 
> And thanks to all of you who took the time to read my idea of what Red and Elizabeth should be, especially a happy ever after ~ and a happy life for them, always.
> 
> Stay tuned for "A Taste of Spring" - to be continued soon. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist or any of its characters.
> 
> Thanks, once again, to my beta, cress26, for taking the time to brainstorm whenever I get stuck, which is a lot! ~ without her, none of this is remotely possible.
> 
> "Dream On' written by Steven Tyler.


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